


Chosen

by exclamation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Canon-Typical Violence, Chess, Cooking, M/M, Slave Stiles Stilinski, Slavery, Slow Build, stiles doesn't know when to shut up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 99,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By tradition, when the Hale heir comes of age, the alpha can choose one boy to serve as the heir's slave for a month. When Peter Hale chooses Stiles, Stiles expects to spend a month being used and abused. But it seems Derek Hale doesn't want a sex slave any more than Stiles wants to be one. </p><p>Unfortunately, they're stuck with each other. They have to make it through the next month without killing each other, and without getting Peter Hale to order Stiles' death. </p><p>Meanwhile, Stiles wants to know why exactly Peter picked him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> With my fics in the past, I've tried to do daily updates, but some of the chapters in this story are turning out quite long and so I won't promise that this time around. 
> 
> Anyway, here's yet another take at the slavery AU concept. I hope you enjoy.

“If you are chosen,” Ms Morrell said to the group of boys gathered in the school gym, “do your best to please the werewolf. That’s the only way you’ll stay alive.” 

“When you say ‘please the werewolf’,” Stiles said, “what exactly do you mean?” 

Jackson scoffed. “You don’t need to worry, Stilinski. Like anyone’s going to pick you.” 

Ms Morrell ignored Jackson and continued her advice, “There are no limits as to what a werewolf can request of the chosen human. The requests are often sexual in nature, but not necessarily, and not limited to that. The human is expected to serve the werewolf in any way the werewolf wants. If the human displeases the werewolf, the werewolf is free to kill him and the alpha will make another choice.” 

So basically, the only way out was to be the perfect slave for a month, full moon to full moon. Stiles knew that if he was chosen, he’d be dead before dawn. Thankfully, Jackson was right. Stiles knew that no werewolf was likely to look at him twice. The Hale alpha would come in and probably choose someone like Jackson or Danny as the coming of age gift for his heir. Then Stiles could go home and stop feeling like he was about to have a panic attack in the middle of the school gym. 

The sound of car engines made its way through the windows. Ms Morrell called for them all to get into line. Stiles found his place, stumbling into alphabetical order with all the other boys in the school who were over fifteen. He glanced sideways at Scott, a few places down the line, who looked pale and terrified too. Stiles turned to face the front, staring at the opposite wall. 

He just had to not screw up in front of the werewolves and then he’d be OK. It wasn’t like they were going to pick him. He just had to stand here and keep his mouth shut for a few minutes or however long it took for the alpha werewolf to assess them like they were lumps of meat on the butcher’s counter. 

Stiles saw movement out of the corner of his eye but he didn’t turn to look. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, trying to be invisible. 

“Welcome to Beacon Hills High School,” Ms Morrell said. “As per tradition, we have here all boys between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. You are welcome to choose one if you wish as the gift from the town to your nephew on his coming of age.” 

“Thank you,” said a voice, slow and surprisingly gentle. Stiles still didn’t turn to look. If he started staring at the alpha, he might draw attention to himself. 

There were other werewolves, betas of the pack or other alphas visiting to see the coming of age ceremonies as the Hale heir turned twenty-one. A few of them moved into Stiles’ field of vision, watching the alpha make his assessment. The alpha walked to the end of the line, moving slowly. Stiles could hear him approaching. Stiles was sure his heart must be beating loudly enough to be deafening to the werewolves present. 

The alpha stepped in front of Stiles and Stiles got a good look at him for the first time. He was younger than Stiles had expected and surprisingly handsome in his human form. He glanced quickly up and down Stiles’ body and moved on immediately. 

Stiles was too relieved to be offended at how quickly he’d been dismissed. 

Then he heard the wheezing. It was a sound he knew too well. Scott’s own fear must have sent him into an asthma attack. Stiles leaned forward slightly out of the line, looking to Scott, who was struggling to breathe, hunching forward. For once in his life, he wouldn’t have his inhaler, since they weren’t supposed to bring anything into the choosing. Stiles needed to go and fetch it. 

“Back in line,” someone snarled. One of the other werewolves moved towards Stiles. 

“Please,” said Stiles, “he’s having an asthma attack. He needs his inhaler.” 

“Back in line,” the werewolf said again. His eyes flashed red. A visiting alpha. Almost as bad a person to piss off as the Hale alpha. 

“Please,” Stiles said again. “I know where his inhaler is. It will only take a minute. He could die.” 

Stiles turned to look towards the Hale alpha, who was watching the whole scene with a sort of mild amusement, as though watching humans dying of asthma attacks was a form of light entertainment. 

“Please,” Stiles said. 

The Hale alpha gave a cold smile. 

“Go fetch,” he said, “but quickly.” 

Stiles ran. He raced across the gym and out the door. His feet pounded on the ground as he ran for Scott’s locker. He knew the combination without thinking, but his fingers fumbled with the lock in his haste. He got the damn thing open and rummaged through the chaos inside until he found the spare inhaler. 

He didn’t even pause to shut the locker, just raced back towards the gym. When he got there, he was finding it almost as hard to breathe as Scott, his heart pounding from the effort of moving so fast. 

Scott was on his knees, doubled over with the struggle to breathe. Stiles got the inhaler into his hand and helped him to get it to his mouth. Scott breathed in his medicine and held his breath. Stiles crouched in front of him, panting hard and waiting to see if Scott would recover. 

A hand gripped Stiles round the arm and hauled him up. The visiting alpha shoved him back to his place and Stiles got back into the line, still breathing hard. He glanced sideways and saw Scott struggle to his feet. 

The drama over, the Hale alpha walked into the middle of the gym. 

“Thank you all for coming. You are all fine young men but I have made my choice and only one of you will have the privilege of serving my nephew.” 

Stiles waited to hear who it would be. He knew he shouldn’t wish this on anyone, but a dark part of him still slightly hoped it would be Jackson. If anyone had to suffer being a werewolf’s pet for a month, better it be that jerk. 

“Him,” the alpha said, raising his hand to point to Stiles. 

“What?” Stiles said. 

“You will do nicely for my nephew,” the alpha said. 

Stiles was pretty sure he must have passed out from the effort of running and all this was just a hallucination because there was no way in hell that an alpha would choose him. But everyone else was backing away, the line disintegrating and leaving him alone in front of the wolves. 

Two of the betas appeared, coming up on either side and grasping him by the arms. There was no way Stiles could ever break the grip of even one of them, so he just let himself be led numbly from the room. At the door, he turned back, and saw the look of shock and guilt on Scott’s face. 

***

Stiles was going to die. It wasn’t just that there was a chance he might die, he was pretty certain of it. He had to please a werewolf for a month and he knew that he couldn’t last that long without saying something stupid or just irritating the werewolf too much. And then he’d die. Probably painfully. 

He didn’t know why the alpha had picked him. Obviously it was because he’d drawn attention to himself, since the alpha had just walked past him until Scott’s asthma attack. But why choose him? Maybe it was a twisted punishment for speaking out of turn during the choosing. The alpha probably expected his nephew to kill Stiles and then he’d be properly punished for daring to speak up. 

Stiles was driven away from the school in a limo. A werewolf sat on either side of him. One was a big, black guy, the other smaller, with a mess of cute curls around his face. Neither looked any older than Stiles was but Stiles knew they could probably snap him in two without even trying. Stiles fidgeted nervously and started biting his nails for the first time in years. He leaned forward in his seat to look out the window to see how far from the school they were. 

“Can’t you sit still?” snapped one of the werewolves, the big guy. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “I’m just nervous. Well, terrified actually. And when I get nervous, my ADHD tends to act up and it’s difficult for me to sit still. And this is pretty much the most nervous I’ve ever been except for that time I tried to ask out Lydia Martin and at least then I knew that I wasn’t likely to get torn into shreds for saying the wrong thing.” 

“For the love of god, just shut up,” the werewolf said. 

“Sorry. It’s just the nerves, as I mentioned. I’m not normally this bad except when-“ 

The big werewolf made a growling noise. 

“I know the alpha won’t want you damaged before you’re given to his nephew, but I’m sure we can find a way to shut you up that won’t leave marks.” 

“I’ll be shutting up now.” 

“Good call.” 

Stiles clenched his hands in front of him in an effort to sit still. He had to fight consciously not to start moving again, locking his muscles in place until it almost hurt. This was not a good start. He’d annoyed these werewolves already. What hope did he have with the alpha’s nephew? 

It seemed like a lifetime before the limo came to a halt. The smaller of the werewolves opened the door and stepped out. The other, the one who’d been snarling at him earlier, gave Stiles a shove towards the door. Stiles stepped from the car into a wooded clearing in which a large house stood. There was no obvious road coming up to the place, just the big house surrounded by trees. 

“Derek’s party will be out in the woods,” werewolf number two said, “once the moon rises. Then he’ll come inside, and have his private party with you.” He smirked. Stiles cringed. 

He’d lose his virginity to a werewolf on a full moon high and then probably get slaughtered because he didn’t know what he was doing in bed. Why the hell didn’t the alpha pick someone like Jackson? 

The werewolves took Stiles inside and up a flight of stairs. The bigger of them opened a door and pushed Stiles into a bathroom that was nearly blinding. White tiles gleamed, metal fittings shone. Everything was pristine and polished. 

“Can you get yourself clean or do you need us to do it for you?” said werewolf number two with another smirk. 

“I’m a big boy, I can wash myself,” Stiles said. The werewolf glanced down to Stiles’ crotch with another smirk and Stiles cringed as he realised what he’d just said. 

The first werewolf had disappeared but he returned now, carrying some dark cloth. He shoved his bundle into Stiles’ arms. 

“Wear those,” he said. 

“What do I do with my clothes?” Stiles asked. 

The guy shrugged, “Who cares?”

He shut the door, leaving Stiles alone in the bathroom. Stiles went to the window and peered out, wondering about his odds of survival if he tried to run away. He didn’t think he’d get very far. Anyway, there were people down there, setting up tables and streamers for the party. So he closed the blind, giving himself one last moment of privacy. 

He undressed and stepped into the shower, scrubbing himself thoroughly under the hot water. He tried to rid himself of the grimy feeling that had started back in the school gym, when the alpha’s eyes had looked him over like he was an object rather than a person. Stiles tried to clean away the sense of fear and sickness. In the end, he had to accept that he wasn’t going to get any cleaner. 

He dried off in a giant, fluffy towel and then looked at the clothes the werewolf had given him. There was no underwear, just a pair of pants and a t-shirt. The pants had a drawstring waist, presumably because no one had known the size of the person arriving. Stiles pulled them tight and then put on the t-shirt, which was a little loose around his shoulders. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and thought he looked ridiculous. The clothes served to make him look smaller than he normally did. Why the hell would someone pick him? 

He opened the bathroom door and found the werewolves there waiting for him, the two betas who’d accompanied him from the school. They took him to another door and opened it on a large bedroom. 

“Wait here,” werewolf one said. “Derek will come for you when he’s done with the party.” 

That was several hours away. Stiles looked round at the room he found himself in. There was the bed. It was pretty hard to miss the bed. It was a giant piece of furniture with oak posts and a canopy overhead. The rest of the furnishings matched, with drawers and bedside tables. There was a desk and chair over by a large window. Stiles went and looked out, seeing the party preparations going on below. Someone looked up, a blond girl who looked about his age. She saw him watching and gave a cold grin. 

Stiles backed away from the window pretty quickly. The opposite wall held bookshelves. Stiles went to investigate what sort of reading material his new master indulged in. There were some pieces of classic literature there, along with a few books on werewolf history, but large swathes of shelving were given over to murder mystery novels. 

Stiles paced the room for a bit. He checked inside the drawers, but saw nothing more than clothes, shoved in randomly wherever there was space. Stiles wondered what he could interpret about his new master that his room, despite its appearance of neatness, held this mess within its drawers. 

He paced a bit more. Then he went to the shelves and grabbed a mystery novel. He had to wait for a while before the party took place and his master came to claim him, so he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. 

He interspersed reading with anxious pacing, his mind unable to stay focused for too long. He kept returning to the window, looking out as afternoon shadows turned to evening and the guests gathered outside the house. Stiles stared down at the faces, wondering whether one of them was the man who would soon be taking possession of him. 

As night fell, lights were lit in the trees and the party began. The glass was thick enough that Stiles couldn’t hear what was going on but he could see as the Hale alpha led a young man in front of the crowd. That must be the Hale heir. He was only a few years older than Stiles, with dark hair and chiselled features. He didn’t seem too happy for someone who was celebrating a coming of age party. A knot of fear settled in Stiles’ stomach; maybe someone had told him who his new slave was? 

The young werewolf looked up towards the house. Stiles leapt back from the window, out of sight. He opened the book again, sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to get lost in the pages. There was no point worrying about what was coming. 

He wasn’t really aware of the time passing until the door opened. Stiles leapt to his feet, dropping the book in his surprise. The Hale heir walked into the room. He was even more handsome up close, a tight shirt emphasising muscles beneath, but his face was locked in a scowl. He glanced down at the book on the floor. Stiles realised he’d probably screwed up already. 

The werewolf closed the door before turning back to Stiles. He didn’t look excited about the prospect of sleeping with Stiles. In fact, he looked grumpy about it. Stiles guessed he wasn’t what the guy had fantasied about as a sex slave. 

Looking at his face, Stiles was pretty certain he wasn’t going to live to morning. 

The werewolf walked slowly across the carpeted floor towards him. Stiles stepped back. He didn’t mean to do it, but the sight of this scowling guy walking towards him just triggered a flight reflex. The guy hesitated, confusion breaking through the scowl briefly. Stiles had two options. Either he could try to cover up his blunder and aim to be the perfect slave for the next twenty-eight days, or he could accept that that wasn’t going to happen and just try to reason with this guy. 

“Look, we don’t have to do this,” Stiles said. “You’re clearly not happy about the fact that your alpha picked me for you so why don’t we just sort of pretend it didn’t happen? If we just ignore each other for the next twenty-eight days, you can then go and find someone you’d rather be with. Or I guess you could kill me and find yourself another slave for this month, because I don’t think I’m going to be able to serve you the way you want. Not that I want you to kill me or anything, it’s just that this isn’t the way I’d imagined my first time and if I’m going to get killed, I’d rather just get it over with without any raping happening first. Not that I’m implying you’re a rapist it’s just that, well, your uncle didn’t exactly pause to ask what I wanted and I realise I haven’t stopped talking for about five minutes now, but I babble when I’m nervous and you staring at me like that isn’t making me any less nervous.” 

The werewolf took another step towards Stiles, who froze, words dying on his tongue. The werewolf bent down and picked up the fallen book. He straightened a crumpled page and then took the book over to the shelves, sliding it back into place. 

“Sorry about the book,” Stiles said. “It was just that I had time to kill waiting for your party to finish so I figured maybe I’d read something. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve not violated some werewolf territory thing, have I?” 

“Books are meant for reading,” the werewolf said. He turned back to Stiles. “What’s your name?” 

“Stiles.” 

The werewolf raised an eyebrow, “That’s a name?” 

“Yes! I mean, it’s not the name my parents gave me but no one could ever pronounce that, so I just go by Stiles.” 

“Do you always talk this much?” 

“When I’m nervous. Look, I’m sorry if I’m not what you wanted, but please don’t kill me.” 

The werewolf checked his watch, “How about this? If you managed to go the next five minutes without talking, I’ll let you live.” 

Stiles opened his mouth to agree, but caught the raised eyebrow. He shut his mouth again and nodded. He stood in nervous, fidgety silence as the werewolf closed the curtains. Stiles started counting seconds in his head, conscious that he didn’t want to speak too soon. The werewolf started undressing, kicking off his shoes and undoing his jeans. Stiles stood there, watching the smooth skin being revealed. The werewolf yanked his t-shirt over his head, revealing curved black lines of a tattoo on his back. There was a lot of muscle there, toned and rippling under his skin as he moved. 

The werewolf glanced over his shoulder at Stiles, who looked away, afraid he was blushing. Stiles kept counting in his head. He didn’t think he was anywhere near five minutes yet but he was itching to talk, to say something. Even just a declaration of amazement at the werewolf’s body, which could have been sculpted by a master craftsman. 

Then the werewolf was there in front of him, wearing only a pair of boxers. The werewolf touched a finger to Stiles’ chin, tilting his head back towards him. Stiles made eye contact and the werewolf gave a small smile. 

“I think that’s five minutes,” the werewolf said. 

Stiles swallowed, “So what now?” 

“Well I’ve had a long day and I’m sure yours was worse. So let’s just get some sleep.” 

“You’re not going to... erm... claim me?” 

“I’m not a rapist. Let’s just sleep and we’ll plot a way to get revenge on my uncle in the morning.” 

“OK. That sounds good.” 

There was only one bed. Despite its size, Stiles curled up as close to the edge as possible, wanting to avoid any possibility of accidental contact. Even so, he was aware of every shift the werewolf made as the mattress moved. He thought of home, of his own bed, his own pillow. It took him a long time to fall asleep.


	2. Day Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read Not According To Plan, there's an exchange in this chapter that might seem familiar. I actually wrote it in this story first, but then used it in the other fic when I wasn't sure if I would continue with this one. Sorry if you're reading it for a second time. 
> 
> I'll try to post the next chapter on Saturday.

Stiles was woken up by the werewolf getting out of bed. The events of the previous day rushed back to him and he cringed at the awkwardness of last night. Still, he’d lived until morning. That was better than could have been expected. He just needed to figure out how to make up for it now. 

He pushed himself up on his elbows and got a good view of the werewolf doing press-ups in his boxers. That certainly explained all the muscles if this was his usual way to start the day. Stiles was beginning to think that this whole sex slave thing might not be totally terrible. If he was going to be used at least it would be by someone who was practically the poster boy for hotness. 

The werewolf finished his exercises and stood, heading out of the bedroom door without so much as a glance at Stiles. Stiles decided he needed to do something other than lie in bed. He’d got lucky last night but if he was going to survive the rest of the month, he had to do better. Ms Morrell had advised them to please the werewolf in any way. Stiles needed to practice being pleasing. He climbed from the bed and walked round to the foot of it. He dropped to his knees and tried to arrange his limbs in a way that would be pleasing. He spread his knees a little and clasped his hands behind his back. He clenched his fingers tight to stop himself fidgeting. Then he waited there with his head bowed. 

The door opened and the werewolf came back into the room. Stiles kept his head bowed, but he saw the guy’s feet falter. The door shut behind him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“I apologise for last night. I know I’m supposed to serve you and I will do better.” 

He kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the werewolf’s feet. His bare feet, with muscular calves heading up from the floor. Stiles shut his eyes because otherwise he might follow those muscles upwards and end up staring at the werewolf’s groin. 

“Oh for... just get up.” 

Stiles hurried to stand, wondering how he’d screwed up this time and whether he should apologise. 

The werewolf was wearing a towel. Just a towel. Stiles found himself face to... well... chest with a lot of slightly damp muscle. The werewolf cleared his throat. Stiles dragged his eyes up from the exposed torso. 

“Are you done?” the werewolf asked. 

“Erm... yes?” 

“Good. Go get a shower; you stink of fear.” 

Stiles hurried from the room and spent a long time in the shower, trying to scrub the scent of fear off his skin. Not that it probably did any good. He expected he still smelled terrified. What did fear even smell like? 

He eventually got out of the shower. He couldn’t just hide in the bathroom all day, tempting though that prospect was. He wrapped himself in a towel and grabbed the clothes he’d been given the day before. He expected they probably smelled of fear too, but his own clothes had been taken away so he didn’t have anything else to wear. He carried the clothes back across the hall and into the werewolf’s room. There was no point being self-conscious. This guy would see him naked before long anyway. 

The werewolf was fully dressed now, dark jeans and another t-shirt that left little to the imagination. The werewolf looked at Stiles and at the clothes he held. 

“You can wear my stuff until we get you something better,” he said. He rummaged in a drawer and then threw a t-shirt and some pants at Stiles, who tried to catch them without losing his hold on the towel. 

“It will help get my scent on you,” the werewolf went on, “so it won’t be too obvious that we haven’t had sex.” 

“Does that mean we’re not going to?” 

The werewolf focused his attention on him, anger suddenly on his face. Stiles took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest again. 

“I told you,” the werewolf said, voice a low snarl, “I’m not a rapist. If you don’t want to have sex with me, we’re not going to have sex.” 

“What about the fact that you can kill me if I don’t please you?” 

“Just shut up and get dressed so we can go get breakfast.” 

Stiles did his best to get dressed while keeping the towel wrapped around himself. The werewolf looked away when he realised what Stiles was doing. Stiles pulled the clothes on quickly. The shirt was too big, the pants didn’t hang right. He probably looked as stupid as he had done in the other clothes, but at least he got clothes. 

“Let’s eat,” the werewolf said, starting for the door. 

“Erm,” Stiles hesitated. “How do you want me to behave? Should I be serving you? Or, I don’t know, kneeling at your feet? Should I call you master? I just... I don’t want to screw this up any further. Please, tell me what you want me to do.” 

The werewolf made an annoyed growling noise, “I want you to come downstairs with me so we can eat breakfast. If you can do that without babbling like an idiot, that would be great.” He reached for the door handle and then paused. 

“Derek,” he added. “My name’s Derek.” 

The werewolf, Derek, opened the door and started downstairs. Stiles hurried after him. 

The kitchen was empty when they got there. Stiles hadn’t really known what do expect in a werewolf’s home, but this room just seemed too ordinary. There were appliances and counters and a kitchen table with chairs. It was all perfectly normal. Derek opened cupboards, pulling out a couple of bowls and a packet of cereal. 

“Muesli OK?” he asked. 

“Um. Sure,” Stiles answered. He wasn’t exactly a fan of muesli, but he ate it sometimes because he bought it for his dad. His dad called it bird seed and complained any time Stiles gave it to him. Stiles started to say this, but remembered the instruction to stay quiet. 

Derek poured milk onto the cereal and then put the bowls on the table. He grabbed a couple of spoons out of a drawer. They sat side by side at the kitchen table and ate their cereal. Stiles was hungry enough not to mind that he was eating bird seed; he hadn’t been given anything for dinner last night and so any food was gratefully received by his empty stomach. He ploughed through his cereal gladly, and quietly. To Stiles’ astonishment, it was Derek who broke the silence. 

“My current theory,” he said, “is that my uncle thinks I need to kill someone as a rite of passage.” 

Stiles suspected he should feel offended. 

“You think he picked me because I’m likely to annoy you into killing me?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past him. There are people who want to take part in these rituals. They want to get influence with the packs, or they hope that by pleasing a future alpha, they’ll be offered the bite. Some people just like the idea of having sex with a werewolf for a month. He could have picked someone who would have been thrilled to be here. Instead, he picked you.” 

“So what are you going to do?” 

“Well, if I’m right, I’m going to try and not kill you just to spite my uncle.” 

“Good, I guess. I approve of any plan that’s basis involves not killing me.” 

Derek shook his head a little, somewhere between amused and exasperated. Stiles wasn’t sure how to deal with all this. The fact that Derek didn’t want to kill him had to be a good thing, but if the alpha had picked him so that he would die, that was a nightmare. Because it might mean that the alpha would order Derek to kill him if Stiles got caught messing up. 

There was a noise outside the kitchen. A door opened and shut. A moment later, a dark-haired girl appeared. Her t-shirt was touched in sweat and she had a water bottle clutched in one hand. Stiles guessed she’d been jogging. She looked over at the pair at the kitchen table. 

“Hi there,” she said. She didn’t seem at all concerned at finding the new slave sitting beside his master at the table. She just went to the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice to pour herself a glass. 

“Stiles, this is my sister Cora.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles said. She gave a nod and a smile around the glass of juice. 

“Cora, I’m going to need you to do me a favour. Do you mind going and buying Stiles some clothes that actually fit him?” 

“I could get some stuff from my house,” Stiles suggested. 

“That’s not done,” Derek said. “It’s part of the tradition, symbolic of leaving your old life behind when you come to serve the pack, or some nonsense like that. You need new stuff.” 

“Or you could keep him in your room and forget about clothes,” Cora said, winking at Derek. 

“Cora, if you don’t shut up right now, I will break every bone in your body, watch them heal and then break them all over again.” 

Stiles flinched away from Derek, even though the threat hadn’t been aimed at him. Cora just grinned and looked at Stiles. 

“I thought he’d be less grumpy when he was getting laid. Clearly you need to do a better job of taking care of my brother.” 

“Cora, shut up,” Derek said again. 

This time, Cora raised her hands in surrender, though she was still smiling. “Fine. Shutting up. And I’ll get the clothes. Any particular sizes or styles?” 

She went to find some paper and a pen and then made a note of Stiles’ sizes, including shoe size. When she asked what was needed, Derek told her to get something of everything. Stiles guessed this meant he wasn’t about to be kept naked and chained to a bed, which was probably a good thing. 

The clothes order dealt with, Cora went upstairs to shower. Stiles decided it was time to get on with what he was supposed to be doing, which was serving his new master. He picked up the bowls and started to take them over to the sink. 

“We have a dishwasher,” Derek said. He pulled on what appeared to be a drawer handle and a false front opened downwards to reveal a dishwasher hidden under the counter. Stiles put the bowls in there. So he wasn’t even going to be able to serve his master through doing household chores. He was turning out to be pretty useless as a slave. 

Derek went upstairs again and Stiles trailed after him, not knowing what else he was supposed to do. Inside the bedroom, Derek shut the door, shutting out the sound of the shower and the rest of the house. Stiles was a little surprised how well the sound was shut out. He guessed with werewolf hearing, they probably invested really well in soundproofing. 

“Do you play chess?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah. Sure. I mean, not well, but I know how to play. My dad has a set and we used to play sometimes, but he tended to spend ages thinking of moves and I’d get bored and distracted and sometimes I’d throw the game just so that I could go and do something else.” 

“It was a yes/no question, Stiles.” 

“Oh. In that case, yes.” 

Derek went to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a chess set. He looked about the room for a moment, looking for the best place to put the board so that they could play. In the end, he moved one of the bedside tables away from the wall and grabbed pillows off the bed. They sat on pillows on either side of the small table as Derek set up the board. 

A thought suddenly occurred and Stiles bit down a laugh. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

Stiles grinned, “It seems that the Hale heir likes playing games in the bedroom.” 

For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far, but then Derek gave him a wicked grin over the chess board. 

“Be careful, Stiles, or you may find over the course of this game that I take you again and again.” 

“Keep bragging, big guy. You might find I’m the one who takes you.” 

Derek laughed. It was a quiet sound, but it was nice. It certainly made a difference from all the scowling. 

As they played, Stiles took the chance at conversation. 

“All those people who were here yesterday for the party,” he said, “they don’t live here, do they?” 

“No. It’s just Cora and me living here most of the time. Peter has a room here, but he also has an apartment downtown.” 

“Peter?” 

“My uncle Peter, the alpha.” Derek seemed to consider this for a moment. “It’s probably best if you’re not on first name terms with him.” 

They played a little more. Stiles captured Derek’s knight. Derek took his bishop. 

“The pack tend to drop round unannounced,” Derek said. “They’re giving us a bit of time to... settle in... but they might start showing up. There might be a pack night tomorrow; they usually come round for pizza and movies on Saturdays.” 

“How do you want me to act around the pack? I know I’m expected to please you.” 

“I’m not big on public displays of affection, so they won’t be expecting me to do anything sexual with you in front of them. I might touch you occasionally just to make a point about the fact that you’re mine, but just a hand on the shoulder or something like that. Are you OK with that?” 

Stiles couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that a werewolf, a future alpha, who had the right to do anything and everything to him, was actually getting his consent about touching his shoulder. Stiles laughed slightly at the absurdity of the situation. 

“That I can cope with,” he said. 

“I might ask you to fetch me a drink or to hand me the pizza or something. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything difficult or humiliating. It would just be a reminder that you are there to serve me. Just obey quickly and quietly.” 

“Emphasis on the quietly, I assume?” 

“Particularly if my uncle’s there. Peter’s likely to come and see how I’m getting on with you. Just let me do the talking and follow any instructions I give you.” 

“OK. I’ll pretend to be a perfect slave in front of your uncle.” 

“I don’t expect miracles. Just pretend to be a tolerable slave. Check.” 

Derek moved his rook to place Stiles in check. Stiles grinned, moving his queen to take the rook. He hadn’t expected this trap to work. 

“Check mate,” Stiles grinned. 

Derek frowned at the board, as though wondering why it had betrayed him. 

“I thought you said you weren’t very good at this game,” Derek said. 

“Yeah, but it turns out you suck at it.” 

“Stiles, remember that conversation we had three seconds ago about you pretending to be a tolerable slave?” 

Stiles flinched slightly, “I take it that insulting you doesn’t count as tolerable behaviour?” 

“No. No it doesn’t. Just don’t do it in front of anyone else.” 

***

In the middle of the day, Derek started cooking lunch. Stiles followed him to the kitchen and started helping out, chopping up vegetables for a soup. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do this?” Stiles asked. “You should get something out of the fact your uncle picked me.” 

“Are you a good cook?” Derek asked. 

“Decent, I guess. I cook for my dad sometimes.” 

“Go for it then.” 

Derek left the kitchen and Stiles carried on with the meal. The Hales had a better quality of ingredients than he ever had at home. Everything was organic and preservative free. He guessed werewolf senses made it worth the cost. He set some onions frying lightly in the bottom of a pan while he prepared the rest of the vegetables and boiled some water. It wasn’t exactly gourmet. Stiles’ usual recipe was ‘what’s in the fridge that needs eating soup’, so he knew he could make something edible with what he had here, which was considerably better stocked than his own kitchen. He added some lentils and ham to give it a bit of protein and mixed in some wheat grains. A bit of stock and some herbs and he had a thick, tasty soup ready. 

Cora walked in as Stiles was looking for bread. She had armfuls of shopping bags; she must have bought half the store. 

“Looks like I timed this perfectly,” she said. She dumped the bags and got some plates and bowls out. Stiles found a loaf in one of the cupboards and brought it to the table along with the pot of soup. 

“Derek, get in here,” Cora yelled. Derek appeared moments later, and the three of them sat down for lunch. 

“Not bad,” Derek said, tucking in. 

“Not bad?” said Cora, between mouthfuls. “It’s better than you make. We might have to keep him.” 

Stiles kept his mouth shut and dunked his bread into the soup. He needed to practice the whole not-speaking-out-of-turn thing. 

“You get the stuff?” Derek asked Cora. 

“Yeah. He can try it on after lunch and I’ll take back anything that doesn’t fit. There were a couple of boys from the school and I heard them talking about the choosing.” She turned to Stiles, “Is it true that you argued with Ennis?” 

“Who’s Ennis?” Stiles asked. 

“Alpha from another pack. Big guy. Tends to look as grumpy as Derek.” 

“Hey!” Derek protested. 

Stiles thought back to the werewolf in the gym. It could be the person she was referring too. 

“I didn’t exactly argue,” he said. 

“So what did happen?” 

“It wasn’t like that,” Stiles said. “My friend had an asthma attack and he didn’t have his inhaler. I just asked to go fetch it.” 

“The guys in the shop were saying that you stood up to Peter and demanded to get the inhaler.” 

“I didn’t demand. I said please. Scott could have died; I had to do something.” 

Derek smiled slightly, shaking his head, “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. Just don’t challenge Peter again. He won’t hesitate to kill you if he thinks you’ve stepped out of line.” 

Stiles swallowed and nodded. 

***

Cora really had bought him something of everything. Mostly, the bags contained casual clothes, jeans and t-shirts and the like, but there were a couple of nice shirts in there too, along with a smart jacket, socks, underwear and even a couple of pairs of shoes. Cora must have been good at sizing him up, because everything fit, although some of the shirts were a little tighter than Stiles would normally wear. 

Stiles tried them all on in the bedroom, while Derek sat at his desk with a book and very pointedly didn’t watch Stiles getting undressed over and over. Once everything was tested, Stiles got dressed in something simple and casual and then wondered what he ought to do with the rest. He didn’t have anywhere to put them, so he settled for making a neat pile on the floor. 

There came a tapping on the bedroom door. Derek went to answer it; Cora stood in the hallway outside. 

“I was going to do some laundry,” she said. “Do you want me to do your sheets?” 

“No. It’s fine.” 

“You don’t want to leave them too long. It’s unhygienic.” 

“I’ll take care of it,” Derek’s voice was almost a growl now, but Cora didn’t seem put off. 

“It’ll only take me a minute. I might as well.” 

She started to move past Derek into the room, but he stuck his arm out, slamming his hand against the doorframe and blocking her out. Cora tilted her head and gave him an amused look. 

“Master of subtlety you aren’t,” she said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek snarled. 

“You might as well hang a neon sign over the house saying that you’ve not slept with him yet.” 

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded. She knew. Of course she knew. And now Stiles would die because he hadn’t been pleasing his master. 

“You can’t tell Peter,” Derek said. 

“You seriously want to hide this from Peter?” 

“Yes! Peter will probably insist I kill him for daring to say no.” 

Cora looked across at Stiles, who was crouched on the floor where he’d been folding clothes. She sighed. 

“If I can figure it out, Peter certainly will,” she said. “You’re going to have to be a little more creative.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Derek, go into the bathroom and... enjoy yourself.” 

“Huh?” 

“Do I have to spell it out for you? If Peter comes to check up on you, the house needs to smell like you’ve been... making the most of your time. You don’t have to overdo it, just make sure there’s something in the air for him to smell.” 

She came into the bedroom and practically shoved Derek out the door. Then she turned on Stiles. 

“Help me with the bed sheets and come with me,” she said. Stiles helped her take the sheets and things from the bed. It made sense. Recently laundered sheets would imply there’d been a reason to wash them. Stiles followed Cora downstairs with the sheets in his arms. 

There was a little utility room behind the kitchen, just a small space for washer and dryer, with an ironing board propped against one wall. Cora shoved the sheets into the washer and set them off cleaning, then she rummaged through a laundry hamper, pulling out a dirty t-shirt. 

“Put this on over your clothes,” she said. 

Stiles hesitated. Even his human sense of smell could tell it was pretty sweaty. 

“Put it on,” Cora insisted. “It’s got Derek’s scent all over it. If Peter shows up, take it off and then there should be enough of Derek’s scent clinging to you and your own clothes that it shouldn’t be too obvious.” 

“When did you figure it out?” Stiles asked. 

“I got suspicious when he got all defensive at breakfast when I teased him about you not needing clothes. The fact that there was nothing to smell in the bedroom was what clinched it.” 

“You don’t seem surprised.” 

“Everything about you is surprising, Stiles. You argued with Ennis, stood up to Peter and now you risked saying no even though you know that Derek could kill you for it. Not many people would do that.” 

“You keep acting like what I did at the choosing was special, but it wasn’t.” 

“The fact that you think that just makes it more special.” 

***

Stiles felt awkward and out of place inside that big house. He didn’t know what he should be doing or how to act. Derek was practically ignoring him after the conversation with Cora earlier. Stiles didn’t want to think about what Derek might be doing upstairs to fool someone with a werewolf’s sense of smell into thinking that they’d had sex. 

Stiles went back into the kitchen and started to catalogue the supplies. Cooking dinner was something he could definitely do. It might not be what Derek had signed up for, but it was something. Stiles didn’t want to give him any more reason to cast him aside than he already had. As he’d noted earlier, the kitchen was well stocked and he found quite a lot of meat in the freezer. He got out some beef mince to defrost and made plans to do bolognaise. He wasn’t sure how much to cook. Did werewolves have a higher metabolism than humans? At least this was a dish he knew kept well, because he’d often cook a huge batch at the weekend so his dad could have the leftovers heated up all week. 

He hoped his dad was OK. He was probably really worried. Stiles wondered if it would be acceptable for him to request a phone call, just to let his dad know he hadn’t been killed yet. He decided to do an excellent job on dinner to put Derek in a good mood and then ask him about it. 

He got out the ingredients he’d need and rummaged around in the cupboards until he found a suitable pan. With this and the soup, he’d be using up the last of the tomatoes, so he found the notepad Cora had been using earlier and started to make a note of things that would need replacing. This wasn’t how he’d pictured his life, but being a good housekeeper certainly beat being a sex slave, so he’d put up with it. 

In the utility room, the washer bleeped that it had finished. Stiles left the dinner stuff on the side and went to get the sheets from the machine. He looked at the dryer with its complicated array of switches, then he looked out a back door to where a washing line stretched between two trees a short distance from the house. 

Stiles paused long enough to take off Derek’s old shirt, just in case there was anyone out there in the woods. Then he picked up a basket of damp sheets and a bag of pegs, heading out to hang laundry in the afternoon sunshine. He stood there for a minute and let himself enjoy it: the warmth on his skin, the smell of the trees, the reminder that freedom was right here. Yesterday, he’d been scared that he might not see the outside of that bedroom again and here he was, out in the sunshine. 

He was just hanging up the final pillow case when he heard the approach of a car engine. He turned round to see a sleek car pulling up in front of the house. The man who climbed out of the driver’s seat was unmistakable. It was the alpha of the Hale pack. 

Stiles was immensely glad he’d left Derek’s shirt in the laundry room, he just had to hope that it had done its job. He froze by the washing line, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He picked up the empty basket and hugged it to his chest as the alpha walked over to him. 

“Not the duties I expected Derek to set you to,” the alpha said. 

Stiles didn’t say anything. He could have protested, or tried to bluff that he was cleaning the sheets because of other duties, but he decided silence was the way forward. After all, he’d screwed this up enough times already by speaking when he shouldn’t. So he just stood there, hoping that silence would be acceptable to the alpha. 

“Did my nephew enjoy his coming of age celebration?” the alpha asked. 

That was a direct question. Stiles had to say something. Unfortunately, his brain-to-mouth filter appeared to have broken. 

“Yes. I mean, I think so. Maybe you should ask him. I mean, I don’t presume to know what he’s thinking.” 

Stiles cringed inwardly and willed himself to stop talking. 

“Uncle Peter,” Derek appeared at the door of the house. “What a surprise.” 

“Ah nephew.” The alpha walked up to Derek and put a hand on his arm, smiling broadly. “I came to see how my choice was working out.” 

“Well,” Derek said. He looked as unwelcoming as it was possible to get. Stiles wouldn’t have guessed they were family. 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” the alpha asked. Derek stepped aside. The two of them went into the house. Stiles hurried round to the back door and into the utility room, putting the empty basket away. He went back to the kitchen, hoping it would be empty, but the alpha was sitting at the table. He gave Stiles an unpleasant smile. Derek hovered by the doorway, glowering at his uncle. 

Stiles hesitated. “Er... Can I get you some coffee?” 

“That would be wonderful,” the alpha said. 

Stiles realised that he’d made a horrible mistake about three seconds later when he tried to figure out the monstrous contraption that was Derek’s coffee machine. There were about a hundred buttons on the thing and a little box next to it contained pouches of different colours which presumably contained different types of coffee. Stiles found a mug, pressed buttons that looked appropriate and hoped for the best. The alpha watched his ordeal with a look of mild amusement. 

“Are there any issues with him?” the alpha asked Derek. 

“Nothing a little practice won’t fix,” Derek said. He could easily have been referring to Stiles’ skills with the coffee machine. 

Stiles placed a mug of something that definitely smelled like coffee on the table in front of the alpha. The alpha turned to Stiles and raised an eyebrow. 

“Creamer?” he asked. 

Stiles resisted the urge to swear at his own stupidity and hurried to the fridge to get that for him. How could he screw up something as simple as getting coffee? 

When the alpha had coffee that he was willing to accept, Stiles returned to the kitchen counter and the ingredients he’d laid out earlier. He started to make dinner, while Derek and the alpha talked like he didn’t exist. 

“Why did you choose him?” Derek asked. 

“Are you not happy with the choice? You have time to choose another.” 

“It’s not that. He’s just not the choice I would have expected you to make for me.” 

“Sometimes the unexpected choices are what make life interesting.” 

“Would it kill you to give a straight answer?” Derek said. “Why him?” 

The him in question kept chopping up onions and pretending that he couldn’t hear the conversation going on less than two metres away from him. He tossed the onions into the bottom of the pan and set it on a low heat. 

“He seems to have some skills that will make him useful,” the alpha said. 

“You couldn’t have known he could cook when you picked him and I know you never do anything without a reason. So what is it?” 

“If you can’t work it out, perhaps I should choose you someone else.” 

“No!” Cora yelled through from another room, where she’d been presumably listening to everything. “You’re not allowed to replace him unless you find someone who can cook as well.” 

“I’m not trying to get rid of him,” Derek said, “I just want answers.” 

The alpha smiled coldly, “The best answers come when you uncover them for yourself.” 

“I hate you.” 

“I know.” 

Stiles put the beef mince into the pan to start browning, thinking about those words. He told Scott he hated him every other day, but the tone was different. When he told Scott that, they were joking, teasing. They both knew it wasn’t serious. When Derek told his uncle he hated him, there was none of that laughter. Stiles stirred the beef in with the onions and wondered what sin he’d committed in a past life to end up stuck between these two in this one. 

The alpha stayed for dinner. No one invited him to, he just stayed. Stiles served up bolognaise with pasta and green beans. Stiles sat at the table next to Derek, wondering if that was the right thing to do, if he was going to die horribly because he’d broken some rule of etiquette no one had warned him about. He was worrying himself towards a panic attack when Derek’s hand found his under the table and gave a slight squeeze. 

If the alpha noticed, he said nothing. He just nodded in appreciation of the mouthful of food he was eating. 

“I may need to spend more time here,” he said. 

“That’s your right,” Derek said, his voice sounding more like a snarl with every syllable. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Derek. I won’t interfere with your fun.” 

The meal continued in uncomfortable silence for a while longer. 

“Have you been practicing your chess?” the alpha asked. 

“Yes,” Derek said in a low growl. 

“There’s no need to be angry about it, Derek. It’s an excellent tool for teaching you about long-term strategy.” 

“I said I’ve been practicing.” 

“Perhaps you should show me what you’ve learned.” 

“Does it have to be today?” Derek looked pointedly at Stiles, who studied the contents of his plate as though they were the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Of course not. We can practice another time.” 

Silence returned. Stiles finished his meal and waited for the others to be done before collecting the plates and loading them into the dishwasher. He would be the perfect subservient human. He offered to make coffee again but the alpha quickly refused. 

“I’ll leave you to your new pet,” the alpha told Derek. He let himself out. The tension gradually drained from the two werewolves sitting at the kitchen table. 

“Well, that could have been worse,” Cora said, when the sound of the alpha’s car had faded into the distance. 

“Do you think he bought it?” Derek asked. 

Cora shrugged, “Who can tell?” 

***

Once the dinner dishes were cleaned away, Stiles went to find Derek. He was in his bedroom, reading. Stiles hesitated in the doorway. 

“What?” Derek snapped. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. It sounded like Derek was angry. Maybe he should try a different time and hope he was in a better mood. 

“Are you just going to stand there all night?” Derek demanded. 

“I was wondering if... if I could use your phone. I want to call my dad. He’s probably worried about me.” 

“There’s a landline by the front door.” 

“Thanks.” 

Stiles slipped downstairs. Sure enough, there was a phone on the hall wall. Stiles grabbed the handset and dialled his dad’s number. He waited as it rang, a strange terror filling him that didn’t quite make sense. Why would he be so nervous about hearing his dad’s voice. 

“Stilinski.” 

“Dad?” 

“Stiles, are you OK? I heard about the choosing. Have they hurt you?” 

“I’m OK, Dad. I just, wanted to talk to you.” 

“Is there... Can I do anything to help?” 

“I don’t think so. I just wanted you to know that I love you.” He need to get the words out, in case Derek changed his mind or the alpha pushed his authority. If he died, he needed his dad to know. 

“Stiles, you can get through this. It’s only twenty-eight days.” 

“Twenty-seven now.” 

“Twenty-seven. You can do this, Stiles. Just be strong and stay alive. Whatever happens, whatever they do, I love you. Be careful.” 

“I will, Dad. Love you.” 

“Love you too.”


	3. Day Three

Stiles woke up with an arm draped over him. Everything was warm and snuggly for about half a second and then the rest of his brain woke up and he realised it was Derek’s arm. He tensed. That tiny movement was apparently enough to wake Derek, who stirred slightly, pulled Stiles closer, and then apparently realised what he was doing. 

“God! I’m so sorry!” 

Derek was at the other side of the bed so fast he practically broke the sound barrier. 

“It’s OK,” Stiles said. “You were asleep. We were asleep. Nothing wrong there at all. People move in their sleep. It doesn’t mean anything. No blame at all. And I think I should stop talking before I get stuck in an infinite loop.” 

“You work on that. I’ll... go shower.” 

“I’ll get started on breakfast.” 

Stiles hurried downstairs, still in the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d worn to bed, and tried not to feel hurt that Derek felt an urgent need to shower after merely putting an arm around him. He started on pancakes, on the grounds that everyone who had a soul liked pancakes. 

“Ooo, nice,” Cora said, coming into the kitchen and grabbing some of the pancakes just as Stiles flipped them out of the pan. She proceeded to drown them in syrup. 

“We’re going to have to keep you,” she said, her mouth full of sticky mess. 

“Manners,” Derek said, walking in. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

“But then I’d have to stop eating these to talk,” she said. 

Derek took a stack of his own and settled at the table. Stiles finished another pancake for himself before joining them. 

“You’re almost out of milk,” Stiles said. “We’re almost out of milk, I guess. And I used the last of the tomatoes yesterday.” 

“I can take you to the store later,” Derek said. “You can get whatever you need if you’re going to keep cooking.” 

“I’ll take him,” Cora said. “If you’re there, people will start wondering why he’s not kissing your feet or something.” 

“Fine. You take him.” 

Derek shoved the last piece of pancake in his mouth and walked out of the room before he’d even finished chewing. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Stiles asked. 

Cora shrugged, “Tough to tell. He’s always a bit grumpy.” 

***

Stiles planned out some meals for the next few days, checked the cupboards and then wrote a shopping list of what he needed. It was all astonishingly normal. Derek didn’t show his face and he wasn’t in his room when Stiles went there to get clean clothes. Stiles still hadn’t seen half the rooms in this house, so he didn’t know where Derek might be. 

Cora called out that she was borrowing Derek’s car and got no response. The car in question turned out to be a beautiful, black Camaro. 

“Wow,” said Stiles. 

“If you scratch the paintwork, Derek really will kill you,” Cora said. 

She drove them into town and they walked into the store together. No one gave Stiles a second glance. Presumably most people didn’t know who he was and had no idea that he was being accompanied by a werewolf. He shouldn’t be surprised; after all, werewolves didn’t tend to photograph well so he’d had no idea what any of the pack looked like until he’d been chosen. 

“What do you need?” Cora asked. And then suddenly Stiles was given her orders, telling her the items on his list and she hurried off to fetch them, while he found the other items to add to the cart. Derek had mentioned pack night, so Stiles picked out packets of finger foods and things he could use to make suitable snacks to accompany movie nights. He needed to show that he was being a decent slave and meeting his master’s needs. 

“Stiles?” A very familiar voice broke into his thoughts and then Stiles found himself wrapped in a hug. 

“Scott?” Stiles extracted himself from Scott’s arms. 

“Are you alright?” Scott asked. “God, I am sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this and I know you must hate me right now.” 

“Why would I hate you?” 

“Because it’s my fault. If I hadn’t had an asthma attack, the werewolves wouldn’t have noticed you and then you wouldn’t have to go through any of this.” 

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” 

“Ah hem,” Cora cleared her throat loudly. She’d returned to the cart carrying a huge carton of milk and now she was looking pointedly towards Scott. 

“Scott, this is Cora Hale. Cora, this is my friend Scott.” 

“The one with the asthma, I take it?” she asked. 

“That’s right,” Scott said, looking suddenly scared but trying to cover it up. “Nice to meet you.” 

“I guess I should thank you. From what I hear, it’s because of you my brother’s got this guy cooking for us for a month.” 

“It’s not because of him,” Stiles said again. “It’s not Scott’s fault.” 

“If you say so. Don’t be too long. You won’t want to keep my brother waiting.” 

She took the list from Stiles’ hand and then pushed the cart away. She left them in the middle of the store to talk while she continued finding the groceries. 

“Don’t blame yourself,” Stiles said. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“No. It’s not as bad as I expected. I’ll be fine.” He glanced after Cora. He couldn’t just stay here all day. “Take care of my dad.” 

“I will. I promise. You take care of yourself. Don’t do anything that will get yourself killed.” 

“Relax. All my plans involve not getting killed.” 

“That’s really not encouraging because I’ve seen how your plans usually work out.” 

“Just, whatever happens, take care of my dad. And keep him away from curly fries. I know he likes to eat when he gets stressed.” 

Stiles hurried after Cora and found her at the registers, loading the groceries onto the belt. He joined in, working in silence, then he bagged everything up while she paid. She didn’t say anything to him until they were back in the privacy of the car, heading back towards the house. 

“So was that guy your boyfriend?” she asked. “Because if so I’m starting to be a bit more sympathetic about the fact you turned my brother down.” 

Stiles laughed a little at that, “Scott’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were, like, seven years old and he’s definitely not my boyfriend. I just don’t see him that way. He’s more like a brother. Besides, he’s completely straight.” 

“But you’re not?” 

“Not completely.” 

“So why did you reject my brother?” 

“Because I was scared and freaking out and thought he’d be using me as a sex toy for a month and I didn’t want to be used even by someone as hot as your brother and he is seriously hot I mean supermodels would probably have fantasies about looking like him and I can’t believe I’m saying this in front of his sister because I can’t stop myself talking and this is just what I do and I knew I was going to screw up and get killed because I didn’t know what I was doing in bed and can’t shut up and now I’m rambling again because I’ve not had my medication in over twenty four hours.” Stiles took a breath and started again. “I was scared. All I knew was that I was being given to someone stronger than me and more powerful than me who could do anything he wanted to me without fear of consequences.” 

“You thought Derek would hurt you.” 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re not all like Peter, Stiles.” 

“I’m starting to get that.” 

“So does this mean you would be interested in my brother?” 

Stiles thought of Derek, all muscles and strength, that smooth skin with the dark tattoo, his dark hair, the features that could have been carved in marble and displayed as a masterpiece. He thought of Derek glowering at him, rushing off to shower after just a touch. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles said. “It’s obvious Derek hates me.” 

***

Cora left Stiles in the kitchen dealing with the groceries and she took Derek’s car out again. The address was easy enough to find, just an ordinary house on the outskirts of town. She parked the Camaro and walked up to the front door, wondering what she might find inside. She knocked. 

The man who opened the door looked tired, worn, the worry showing clearing on his face. 

“Are you Stiles’ father?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said, eyeing her with suspicion. 

“I’m Cora Hale,” she let her eyes show their yellow in case he needed proof. 

“Is Stiles alright? Has something happened?” 

“He’s fine. He just mentioned something about medication.” 

“For his ADHD. He gets a little jumpy and distracted without it. Has he been... He’s not done anything to upset anyone, has he?” 

She could smell the fear coming off him in waves. 

“Your son is safe. I just thought that if he needed medication, I should fetch it for him. Can I take it to him?” 

“Of course. Yes. Of course.” 

He stepped aside to let her into the house. He wasn’t as nervous and jumpy as Stiles, but Cora could see a trace of it in this man. He was obviously really worried about his son. She wanted to tell him that Derek would never hurt him, but she didn’t want to make promises that Peter might break. 

She followed him up the stairs and into what had to be Stiles’ room. It smelled of him. There was mess everywhere, discarded clothes on the floor, the bedcovers a rumpled pile, and books scattered over floor and desk, with papers strewn in piles or just scattered across the carpet. 

“I’m sorry about the state,” Stiles’ dad said. “Stiles didn’t sort it out before the choosing and I haven’t been able to tidy it.” 

She didn’t know if he meant that he hadn’t been able to because he’d been busy, or because he didn’t know where things belonged or because he hadn’t been able to face erasing the last trace his son had left on this house. This chaos was a mark Stiles had left and his father was now unsure if there would be more. Cora didn’t ask him. She just watched him hunt through the mess for the medication. 

“He likes books, I take it,” she said, eyeing the piles. There seemed to be no common theme to them. 

“He reads a lot. Sometimes he’ll take too much Adderall and get interested in a subject and get so focused on it he won’t stop until he knows everything he could possibly know. Sometimes I think I should put a parental block on Wikipedia just to make sure he goes outside occasionally.” 

He found a prescription packet in one of the drawers. 

“He’s a good kid,” he said. “I know he can be a bit hyperactive sometimes, and he gets in trouble when he can’t focus, but he’s got a good heart.” 

Cora smiled, “I believe it. He stood up to my uncle when his friend was having an asthma attack.” 

The man nodded, “Scott told me.” 

“And he worries about you. He worries you’ll eat too many curly fries without him here to keep an eye on you.” She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Stiles in the store, but she’d been curious. She was glad she had now because a comment about fries was apparently enough for Stiles’ father to laugh. It wasn’t much of a laugh, but it was something and Cora felt glad to have been able to give it to him. 

“Does he need anything else?” he said, handing over the medication. “I can pack up some clothes for him.” 

“He won’t need clothes.” She saw the man turn several shades paler and regretted her choice of words. “What I mean is we’ve bought him some stuff to wear. He has clothes.” 

“His books then, or his computer.” 

She held up a hand to silence him, “It’s the pack’s responsibility to ensure he has what he needs for the next twenty-eight days. But I can give him a message.” 

“Just tell him I love him and I’ll be waiting. Tell him I’ll stay away from curly fries for the month if he promises to keep himself alive.” 

Cora smiled, “I’ll tell him.” 

***

Apparently the alpha wouldn’t be coming to pack night. This was a night for the betas. Stiles was grateful for that, but he still spent the rest of the day wearing one of Derek’s old shirts over his clothes. He spent the afternoon cooking, preparing treats and nibbles for the arrival of the betas. Derek had mentioned pizza, so he was working on a selection of pizza bites. He was just preparing to put them in the oven when Cora appeared in the doorway, startling him so much he nearly dropped the tray. 

“Do you guys practice sneaking around?” he asked. 

“We do occasionally sneak,” she admitted. Then she handed him a crumpled prescription bag. Stiles only had to glance at it to see his name and know what it contained. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked. 

“I went back to your house,” she said, “and spoke to your dad.” 

She passed on the message. Stiles could almost have burst into tears in the kitchen. He clutched the prescription bag to his chest. It wasn’t so much the message from his dad as the unexpected kindness. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“No problem. Is there anything else you need?” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. You’ve got clothes, food and medicine. Is there anything else you need?” 

Stiles thought about that question seriously. There were lots of things he wanted, like to go back home and forget that the alpha had ever chosen him. He would like to have his own bed, but that would be a blatant giveaway that he wasn’t fulfilling his duties and that way lay death. 

“I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” he said. Cora nodded. Then she left him to his cooking. 

In the late afternoon, Derek finally reappeared. He turned up in the kitchen, looked at the array of food covering all flat surfaces, and just blinked in shock. 

“We usually just order pizza,” he said. 

That was when Stiles realised he’d probably overdone it. There were pizza bites, chicken dippers, homemade salsa, vegetable sticks, goats cheese tarts, dates stuffed with walnuts, chocolate brownies, pineapple fritters and even mini muffins. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said. 

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, “Did you just apologise for this?” 

“Sorry?” Stiles said again, apologising for the apology this time. Derek shook his head and grabbed a plate of tarts to carry through to the den. Stiles followed with the pizza bites. The den was a cosy room, with worn, comfortable armchairs and couch gathered around a modestly sized TV. A couple of beanbags filled the spaces between them. There were a couple of tables which were quickly covered with Stiles’ culinary efforts. It all looked wonderfully pleasant when the front door of the house opened and the first of the pack arrived without bothering with knocking. 

“Wow, you’ve gone all out,” said the guy who’d arrived, the curly-haired guy who’d accompanied Stiles from the choosing. 

“It’s all Stiles,” Derek said. 

“What the hell’s a Stiles.” 

“Me,” said Stiles. “I’m a Stiles. I mean, that’s my name.” 

“Isaac.” 

The others showed up soon after. The big guy who’d threatened to shut him up after the choosing turned out to be named Boyd. The blond girl who he’d noticed through the window said she was called Erica. That seemed to be it for the pack. Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but from the size of the party, he’d assumed werewolf packs were large things. The newly arrived werewolves seemed more interested in the food than talking to Stiles, so soon they were all settling in around the den while Cora sorted out the movie. 

Derek took one end of the couch, while Cora claimed the other end. Isaac tucked himself into one of the armchairs. Erica sat in the other, with Boyd sitting on a beanbag in front of her, one of Erica’s legs trailing over his shoulder. There were no seats left, so Stiles just stood there, wondering what he was meant to do. He was a slave here, not part of the pack. 

Derek reached over the back of the couch and grabbed Stiles by the wrist. With a gentle tug, Derek pulled Stiles towards the group. Stiles ended up sitting on a beanbag by the edge of the couch, where he could lean against the couch’s arm. Derek had a hand draped over the arm, his fingers occasionally brushing against Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles guessed this was what Derek had warned him about, just a subtle gesture of possession. 

Stiles tried not to think about it, tried not to let it be a distraction, but there was something so casually intimate about it. He’d never had anyone touch him like that before and he hated the fact that it was a lie. 

He tried to lose himself in the film, which was a fairly predictable action movie that others were cheerfully ripping to pieces as they watched. His food seemed to be going down well, which he guessed was good, but he wasn’t sure if he ought to help himself to some too. He was feeling quite hungry but he wasn’t sure it would look right if he started eating like he was one of the pack. 

Derek must have noticed. Isaac picked up the plate of pizza bites and took a couple, before passing the plate along the line to the others. When Derek got the plate, he took one of them in his fingers and held it to Stiles’ mouth. 

“You cooked them, you should eat some,” he said. Stiles ate directly from Derek’s fingers, embarrassed and flustered by the gesture. He knew it was all just part of the act. He was supposed to be Derek’s sex slave. He was lucky if being hand-fed was the most uncomfortable thing he’d be subjected too. 

As the evening progressed, Derek would hand Stiles more titbits of food. Derek didn’t seem too focused on it, still paying more attention to the movie than to Stiles. It was almost insulting. Here was Derek doing something so tender, so intimate, and he didn’t even seem to notice. Stiles decided to up the ante, just to see what Derek would do. When Derek held a piece of brownie to Stiles’ lips, Stiles took Derek’s fingers into his mouth, licking the chocolate stickiness from his skin, before finally ending with a kiss to Derek’s fingertips. 

Derek had definitely noticed now, staring at Stiles with such intensity that Stiles wouldn’t have been surprised if laser beams had shot from his eyes. 

“Get a room, you two,” Erica moaned. 

“You’re one to talk,” Isaac said, nodding to Boyd, who was leaning against her chair and thoroughly wrapped in Erica’s long legs. 

Derek stopped feeding Stiles after that. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. 

When the film came to an end, Cora got up to put another in the machine and Derek told Stiles to go get some sodas from the kitchen. Stiles followed the order, returning with an armful of cans which he handed round to the pack. Erica had taken the opportunity for a bathroom break, so the others were just chatting and waiting for her before starting the film. 

“You play lacrosse, don’t you, Stiles?” said Isaac. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Well, I sit on the bench mostly.” 

“We should practice. Make sure we’re on form to impress Coach when school starts again.” 

Stiles hadn’t realised Isaac played but now that he mentioned it, recognition set in. He’d seen Isaac around school, on the practice field, in class. He just hadn’t noticed. Isaac had always just been there in the background, quiet and shy and almost scared. Now that he thought about it, he’d seen Boyd and Erica around school too, though Erica had looked tired and ill most of the time, nothing like the girl she was now. 

“Um, sure,” Stiles told Isaac. “I mean, if Derek says so. I’m supposed to follow his orders.” 

Derek shrugged, “I’m sure I can spare you to practice with Isaac sometimes.” 

That was the closest Derek came to talking to Stiles for the rest of the evening. His hand had disappeared from his shoulder and Stiles found himself missing the gentle brush of his fingers. All Stiles could do was sit there through the next movie wondering what he’d done wrong this time.


	4. Day Four

Stiles got to work cleaning up the mess in the living room. There was nothing left of the food he’d cooked, just empty plates and crumbs. He took the plates through to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. He was gathering up the soda cans when Cora came downstairs. 

“You shouldn’t try and clean it all up by yourself,” she said. 

Stiles shrugged, “I’m supposed to serve the heir of the Hale pack.” 

“Did Derek tell you to tidy up?” 

“No.” 

“Then don’t. He can tidy up himself when he gets his lazy ass out of bed.” 

“And what if the alpha makes another surprise visit and I’m relaxing while the house is a mess?” 

Cora considered this for a moment, before grinning, “Tell him you’re too exhausted from having sex with my brother.” 

“I thought werewolves could pick up when someone was lying.” 

She shrugged, “So go have sex with my brother.” 

Stiles dropped the soda cans. He swore under his breath and started picking them up again, avoiding making eye contact with Cora. 

“Come on,” she said. “I saw the way you were last night. That finger sucking thing? Please! And you did say you thought he was hot.” 

“That doesn’t mean... It doesn’t mean anything.” 

He hurried past her, an armful of empty cans to throw in the trash. 

“Do you want breakfast?” he asked. 

“No. I’m just going to grab something on the way to work. Don’t let my brother sleep all morning.” 

***

Derek was woken by his phone, the beeping cutting through his sleep and forcing him to stir just to do something to shut off the noise. He growled slightly, annoyed at whoever dared send this message. It was Sunday. It was a day for sleeping until noon and all of the pack knew how he felt about that. That was why he had to check it; they wouldn’t contact him on a Sunday morning unless it was important. 

Cora’s name appeared on the screen and Derek sat up in bed, the last traces of sleep vanishing in a wave of fear. 

_Stiles is doing clean up by himself. TALK TO HIM!_

Derek gave another growl, tossed the phone aside and collapsed back onto the pillow. Why the hell would Cora be bothering him with that now? Why would she think it was important? 

The answer came almost at once. He closed his eyes and could picture Stiles in the kitchen, fretting over the coffee machine or clearing away the plates. He could picture Stiles on that first night, trembling with fear, rambling about being killed. Derek knew that Stiles was still afraid. 

He climbed from the bed, pulled on the clothes that happened to be at the top of his drawers and he headed downstairs. Stiles was polishing the coffee table. There was a vacuum cleaner plugged in but he hadn’t started it yet. Stiles glanced round at Derek. 

“Oh, hey, you’re awake. I wasn’t sure whether to start with that thing,” he gestured at the vacuum, “because I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“I didn’t ask for a slave,” Derek said. “I didn’t ask for this whole stupid ritual. My uncle thought it was worth implementing the old tradition because he wanted to reassert the pack’s strength to the people of Beacon Hills, or some nonsense like that. So stop acting like I’m going to slit your throat if you don’t wait on me hand and foot.” 

“If you didn’t want this, why didn’t you just tell your uncle?” 

“Because he’s still my alpha, whatever I may think of that.” 

“So you want me to pretend to serve you so that your uncle doesn’t find out because you’re scared of him?” 

“Yes. But you don’t actually have to serve me.” 

Stiles looked at him for a long moment and then folded his arms, glaring at Derek. 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said. “If I decide not to serve and just kick back and relax, what happens when your uncle makes another surprise visit? Either I look like the worst slave ever or you have to tell your uncle that the whole thing is a sham and you’re clearly not going to do that or you wouldn’t have agreed to this in the first place. So I look rubbish and he’d probably insist I get properly punished. You might look a bit weak for not controlling me, but I’m the one who could get hurt or killed at your uncle’s whim.” 

There was still fear radiating off Stiles, but anger too and Derek knew that some of it was directed at him. It should be. Derek hadn’t figured any of this out. He’d just gone along with Peter’s plan after token argument because of the werewolf instincts prompting him to obey his alpha, and the sense of self-preservation reminding him that this man had already murdered one blood relative. Derek hadn’t thought how it would affect the human caught up in this mess. He hadn’t considered that he was toying with someone else’s life. 

“You don’t have to serve me,” Derek said. “Don’t worry about housework and stuff. If Peter questions it, I’ll deal with him. I’ll just say it’s not what you’re here for.” 

He could make sure there was a scent of sex around the house. A masturbation session or two would leave a trace in the air. Enough to keep Peter from getting too suspicious at least. Stiles was starting to pick up a trace of his scent anyway, from sleeping in his bed and wearing his old clothes. 

“What about cooking?” Stiles asked. 

Derek hesitated, unsure of how to answer. He definitely didn’t want to tell Stiles not to cook, but if he told him to, he’d undo everything he’d just said. 

“Don’t feel obligated,” Derek said, “but you’re a better cook than me or Cora.” 

Stiles appeared to think it over, before nodding. “I’ll keep cooking. It’ll give me something to do anyway. I’ve got to keep myself occupied somehow.” 

“What do you normally do?” Derek asked. 

Stiles shrugged, “Hang out with Scott, browse the web, read, practice lacrosse, kick Scott’s ass at Halo, just stuff.” 

“You can read any of my books you like.” 

“Why thank you for your bountiful generosity,” Stiles said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Derek was angry at himself for such a stupid statement. He just wanted Stiles to know he wasn’t going to get in trouble. He didn’t need to get bored. 

“Do whatever you like,” Derek snapped. He turned and walked out of the room, angrier still at the way he’d just acted. He’d been frustrated with himself, not Stiles. But the frustration was a spiral of negative feelings until he got upstairs and shut himself in the bathroom. 

He made the room smell like he was using Stiles for his proper purpose. He stood in the bathtub and stroked himself to a hollow climax, picturing Stiles with that odd mix of fear and fury, imagining what it would be like to actually have sex with him. Stiles wouldn’t be timid and passive. He’d try to take charge and probably still be talking the whole time. Derek closed his eyes and imagined that mouth working even in the height of passion. 

He stood for a minute, his seed splattering his skin and the bathroom tiles. He let the scent fill the room. Then he turned on the showerhead and washed away all trace of it, washed away the mess caused by his secret fantasy, the dream that would never be real. 

He washed away the tears on his cheeks. 

***

“I’m going out for a bit,” Derek announced, already half-way to the door. “Don’t bother about me for lunch.” 

“Derek,” Stiles said, hesitant. Derek snapped his head round to him, eyes already set in a glare. Stiles took a step backwards automatically. 

“What?” 

“I was wondering if I could call my dad again?” 

Derek’s face softened slightly. “You don’t need to ask. Just ring him whenever you like.” 

Then Derek was gone, out the front door and roaring off in his ridiculous car. Cora was out at work, whatever work might be for her, so Stiles was left alone in the house. For the first time, he really checked it out. He already knew his way around the kitchen and the utility room, but he checked out the rest. There was the living room and a small study, and a downstairs toilet. Upstairs, there was Derek’s room and the bathroom. Another room was obviously Cora’s; Stiles just peek around the door and quickly left. There were two other bedrooms, both neatly furnished but cold and lifeless. Guest bedrooms, Stiles assumed. There was a narrow staircase that led up further, into an attic room that ran the length of the house. There wasn’t much space as the ceiling sloped down towards the floor on either side. The edges of the room were lines with boxes, this space used for storage and nothing else, but skylights let in the sun and the sight of dancing branches against the sky. This could be a beautiful space if it were properly used. 

Stiles looked at the boxes stacked on boxes and wondered what was inside them all. He considered peeking, but the cardboard flaps were taped shut. He couldn’t look without ripping off the tape and then everyone would know. Besides, it would be a gross invasion of privacy. 

He headed back downstairs and went to the phone by the front door. He had permission to call his dad anytime, so it didn’t feel urgent, but he wanted to speak to his dad, to let him know he was safe. And to make sure his dad wasn’t hitting the drink or the curly fries in his absence. 

He dialled the number. The phone was answered almost at once. His dad must have saved the number from last time, because he asked, “Stiles?” the second the call connected. 

“Yeah, dad, it’s me.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. I just wanted to check you were keeping your promise about the curly fries.” 

“I am a curly fry free zone.” 

His speech didn’t sound slurred or drunk either. Stiles decided not to ask that question specifically, but if his dad had been drinking, it clearly wasn’t too much. 

“Did you get your Adderall?” 

“Cora brought it to me.” 

It was strange how awkward this conversation felt. Stiles had always been able to talk to his dad and now he couldn’t quite find the words he needed. From the drawn-out silence on the other end of the line, he guessed his dad felt the same way. It had been important for him to hear his dad’s voice, to know he was OK, but now he was just left wondering how to move forward. 

“Is there anything else you need?” his dad asked. “Anything I can get to you?” 

“No. I don’t think so.” 

He could think of a lot of things he wanted. He wanted his own pillow. He wanted his books. He wanted his computer. But there was nothing he actually needed. Derek was looking after him as far as food and clothing went. 

“I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

***

Stiles found the book he’d started reading on his first day here. There was little else to do and he wasn’t sure when the others would be back, so he just curled up on the couch with the book. He lost himself in the plot and didn’t notice the car engine outside. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened and Derek walked in. He and his sister clearly took the sneakiness training together. 

“I’ve brought you some things,” Derek said. He had a box in his arms that he now set down on the coffee table. 

Curious, Stiles opened the box. The first thing he saw was the laptop. It was clearly second hand, a little scuffed on the case, but it was a computer. 

“You can use the internet,” Derek said, “but don’t start posting Facebook statuses or sending emails or anything like that. Stick to anonymous browsing. We don’t want people to start questioning what you’re doing.” 

“I can do that.” 

He took the laptop and its charger out, going further into the box. There was a pack of cards. There was a Nintendo DS, second-hand as well by the look of it, and a handful of games. There was an empty notepad and some pens. At the bottom of the pile was a little book of logic problems. 

“This is because I made a comment about needing something to do, isn’t it?” said Stiles. 

Derek shrugged. 

“Thank you, Derek.” 

“If you need anything else, ask. We’re supposed to tend to your needs while you’re here.” 

Derek left the room. Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of this at all. It seemed like the gesture of someone trying to be nice, but then he’d acted so grumpy about it. Maybe he was doing this because he felt he had to and he was angry about the fact he had to spend money on all these things for Stiles. 

Stiles decided just to make the best of it. He booted up the laptop and connected it up to the Hales’ wifi. 

***

Stiles was cooking again and the smell was drifting through the house. Derek shut himself in the study. This was going to be a nightmare. Stiles was right that hiding this from Peter was going to be a problem, but Derek was more worried about the fact that Stiles had looked practically edible, curled up on the couch with a book. With every minute, Stiles was smelling more and more of Derek, like he belonged to Derek. Sleeping in the same room, it was going to be difficult to keep his hands off him. 

Derek couldn’t even hope to avoid him, not when they were stuck in such close quarters. He could try though, and waited in the study until the moment that Stiles called out that the food was ready. Only then did he emerge, going through to the kitchen and settling down to dinner. Stiles had cooked fish with herb butter and it was as delicious as the other meals had been. Derek tried to focus on that and not on Stiles. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Stiles asked. 

Derek looked up, finally looking Stiles in the face. He looked genuinely concerned. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

“You’ve been avoiding me. I know I can be a bit irritating but you’ve been, like, hiding from me. Was it something I did?” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Derek said. “It’s this situation that’s the problem.” 

“Well, you only have to put up with me for another twenty four days.” 

“Yeah. Twenty four days.” 

And then Derek could stop smelling Stiles’ scent on everything. He could stop wondering what it would be like to kiss those lips that Stiles was forever moving. He could stop imagining doing things that he knew Stiles didn’t want. He could stop torturing himself with possibilities that were impossible. 

Twenty four days until this was over. That should make him happy. It didn’t.


	5. Day Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update will probably be Wednesday.

Stiles was woken by the alarm on Derek’s phone. Derek had been pressed against Stiles’ back. Now he rolled away, swiping his phone to turn the alarm off. Stiles, still not quite awake, rolled into the warmth Derek had left. He hoped that Derek would roll towards him again, to hold him the way he only seemed to do in sleep. 

But of course Derek didn’t. Derek climbed from the bed with a groan of frustration. Derek was awake now, stirred up by the movement and noise. He sat up in bed. Derek turned to him, noticing the movement. 

“Go back to sleep,” Derek said. “I’ve got to work.” 

But Stiles was fully awake now. He climbed out of bed, still in the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d worn for sleep. He headed downstairs, while Derek made a beeline for the shower. In the kitchen, he set to work with bacon and eggs. When Derek came down shortly later, Stiles was setting out things for breakfast. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Derek said. 

Stiles shrugged, “I was awake.” 

Derek sat down to eat. He was dressed casually to the point of being scruffy, in jeans and a worn shirt. Stiles wondered what Derek’s job was. It wasn’t often he thought about werewolves working, but somehow this didn’t fit the imagined image for the werewolf class, that held on to old traditions. He could picture a werewolf like a lawyer in a Dickens novel, but not heading out in jeans and work boots. 

Derek ate quickly, giving Stiles a quick word of thanks, and then he went to the cupboards, grabbing cereal bars and a banana. 

“There’s still more eggs if you’re hungry,” Stiles said. 

“This is lunch,” Derek said. “I’ll see you later. I’ll be back about six and I’ll be ready to eat a horse. Not that you have to cook, if you don’t want to. I could always call for takeout; it’s what I normally do.” 

“Cooking’s no bother,” Stiles said. He would need to do something to occupy himself if he was here all day when the werewolves were out. He could see the day stretching ahead of him, filled only with tedium. 

That seemed to be it for conversation. Derek turned away, but Stiles thought of the lonely day that was to come. 

“Derek,” he called out, “I was thinking about calling my dad again.” 

“You don’t need to ask permission for that, I’ve told you.” 

“OK, but what about calling Scott?” 

Derek had stopped in the doorway, he looking back at Stiles now, thoughtfulness on his face. He considered Stiles’ request carefully. 

“You can call him,” Derek said, “but be careful about what you say.” 

Stiles nodded. They still both had their parts to play. Then Derek was gone, heading out of the house and leaving Stiles alone in the kitchen. Stiles threw a couple more eggs in the pan when he heard movement upstairs. Cora joined him as the eggs were finishing. 

“You are a lifesaver,” she said, grabbing the plate and swallowing down the eggs in a rush that cleared the plate in minutes. Then she too was gone, saying she’d be back for dinner. 

Stiles cleared away the breakfast things and set the dishwasher running, then he wandered through the empty rooms of the house and to the phone. 

His dad answered the call instantly. 

“Stiles? Is everything OK?” 

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to call and check in. Is this a good time? I don’t want to interrupt you at work.” 

“Stiles, you could have called me in the middle of a high speed chase and I’d still want to talk to you.” 

“You’re not, are you? Because you shouldn’t be on the phone while driving.” 

His dad laughed and it was a beautiful sound to hear. Stiles wished he could take that sound and wrap it around him like a hug. 

“I’m supposed to fuss over you, remember,” his dad said. 

“I miss you,” Stiles said. 

“I miss you too. Please tell me you’re staying safe.” 

“I’m safe,” Stiles said. “The werewolves haven’t hurt me. In fact, I think my biggest danger today will be dying of boredom while they’re out at work.” 

“Just be careful.” 

“I will. I promise. I should let you get back to work.” 

“I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

Stiles considered calling Scott but it was the summer and Scott was probably still in bed. It would be mean to wake him just out of boredom. He was sure Scott wouldn’t mind, given the circumstances, but it wasn’t like there was any rush. Stiles would call him later. Instead, he grabbed the laptop Derek had given him and started browsing the web. He went for his usual method of procrastination which was to open a random Wikipedia page and see where the links led him. 

An hour and several pages later, he found himself reading about bento boxes, a Japanese lunch box style. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d got onto this topic. There were pictures of them on the web, including some lunches with cute animal designs made out of rice, one with tulips cut out of melon, and all sorts of weird and wonderful creations that looked like they must take hours to do. 

Well, Stiles did have hours. And Derek’s lunch had consisted of two cereal bars and a piece of fruit. He hadn’t seen Cora take anything for lunch. With the state of their cooking, it was a wonder they weren’t ill. 

Stiles carried the laptop through to the kitchen and started going through the ingredients he had at it his disposal. He didn’t have the fancy animal-shaped cutters that had apparently been used to make some of the designs he saw pictured, but the Hale kitchen was otherwise very well stocked. He could experiment and anything that didn’t work out, he could eat for his own lunch and no one need ever know. He set some rice on to boil and decided what to try. 

***

It turned out that there were different types of rice. He knew about brown and white rice, but it seemed there was a particular sushi rice, which was better at sticking together and recommended for making rice shapes for bento boxes. Ah well, they could have rice salad for dinner. 

He experimented with sandwich shapes, which seemed a much more achievable approach with the ingredients to hand. He made sandwiches and then cut shapes out with a sharp knife. He made a teddy bear head shape and used bits of cheese and salami to give it features. Soon a slightly lopsided but decidedly cute bear was looking up at him from the work surface. Stiles decided this was a success while he ate the cut-offs. 

He could cut slices of carrot and cucumber into flowers. That was easy enough and lettuce would make a nice lawn to rest them on. 

He dug around in the cupboards to find suitable containers and soon had packed up two lunches with teddy bear sandwiches, vegetables flowers, and a little pot of chopped fruit. He even cut the kiwi into butterfly shapes. They weren’t as beautiful as some of the efforts he’d seen pictured on the web, but not bad for a first try. 

Stiles put them in the fridge and decided that enough time had passed for him to call Scott. 

“Hello?” Scott answered, the cautious tone of one reading an unrecognised number from his phone screen. 

“Scott, it’s me.” 

“Stiles? Are you OK?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you going to get in trouble for calling me?” 

“No. I’m… The werewolves are out at work. There’s only so much slaving I can do when there’s no one home, so Derek gave me permission to call you.” 

“That's good. Not that you have to ask permission to make a phone call, but that you won’t get in trouble. I don’t want you to take any risks because of me.” 

“The only thing I’m at risk of today is dying of boredom. Derek and Cora are both out and I’ve already made their lunches for tomorrow so all I’ve got to do now is wait around until they come home.” 

“But that’s… that’s better than being made to do stuff by them, isn’t it?” Scott asked. 

“I made teddy bear sandwiches.” 

“What?” Scott’s voice contained a mixture of confusion and laughter. 

“I was bored so I got a little creative with their lunches. They have little teddy bear faces now.” 

Scott started laughing. That set Stiles off and he laughed to, realising just how silly his morning’s activities had been. He’d made teddy bear sandwiches for the heir of the Hale pack. 

“I was worried about what they might do to you,” Scott said, “but I have to admit that I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined teddy bear sandwiches.” 

“I’m not sure Derek has either.” 

“Is he…” Scott’s voice turned suddenly serious. “Has he hurt you?” 

“No. He’s grumpy but he’s alright.” 

“Stiles… I understand if you don’t want to talk about anything while you’re there, but you can talk to me. About anything. Whatever he’s done or made you done, you can tell me. No matter how embarrassing or painful or anything else, you can talk to me.” 

“I think the most embarrassing thing I’ve done is make teddy bears for lunch, but I’ll bear that in mind.” Stiles tried to keep his voice light, but he could hear Scott’s concern. And he couldn’t tell Scott that there was no need for it, that Derek hadn’t hurt him or forced him in any way, and that he’d promised he never would. They had twenty three more days to keep up the act and Scott had to believe, like everyone else, that Stiles was being used as tradition allowed by the heir of the Hale pack. 

“Seriously, Scott, I’m OK,” he said. But he didn’t think Scott believed him. 

***

Stiles read for a bit. He watched some videos on YouTube. Then he decided to clean the kitchen just to give him some reason to move around. He was beginning to go stir crazy from sitting still. 

He was grateful for that decision when the front door opened because it meant he was scrubbing the stove top and looking like a slave when Peter Hale walked into the kitchen. He was glad that the alpha hadn’t walked in on him just relaxing and procrastinating. Even so, he couldn’t stop his heart racing and the sharp spike of fear that shot through him. 

“Alpha Hale,” Stiles said. “I’m afraid Derek and Cora are both out at work.” 

“I’m aware of that,” Peter Hale said. “I came to see you.” 

He looked around the kitchen, taking in the slightly damp counters that Stiles had just cleaned, the sponge and gloves and the half-cleaned stove. Stiles was aware that Peter could probably hear his heart pounding and he wondered what on earth Peter might have come to see him about. He couldn’t imagine that it would be anything good. 

“I’m sure the kitchen can wait until later,” Peter said. 

“Of course,” Stiles said. He set aside the sponge and pulled off the gloves. He gave his hands a quick wash to get rid of the feel of the rubber, all the while wondering what horrible thing Peter might have in store. He could easily decide that his nephew’s slave was available for his service as well. 

“Do you play chess?” Peter asked. 

Stiles blinked in surprised, then said, “Yes. A little.” 

“Excellent. Derek has a chess set in his room. If you would be so kind as to fetch it, we can see if you will give me a challenge.” 

Stiles hurried up to the room. He took a moment to try and calm himself, but he was sure he must look like a terrified mess. Still, he hoped he looked a little more dignified as he carried the chess board downstairs. Chess he could handle. 

They set up the game in the den, using the coffee table. Stiles took an armchair while Peter sat at one end of the couch, where Derek had sat on pack night. 

They played the first few moves in silence, Stiles continually waiting for something else to happen, for some other sign of what Peter might want. He also couldn’t help wondering if it was obvious that Derek hadn’t claimed his right. 

“Do you enjoy being here?” Peter asked after a while. He picked up a rook and set it down on the board again. Stiles stared at it, using the pretence of studying the game to avoid looking at Peter. 

“Is this a trap?” Stiles asked. 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“If I say I’m enjoying being here, then clearly I’m not working hard enough and you can have me punished. If I say I’m not enjoying it, then that’s an insult to your family’s hospitality and you can still have me punished.” 

Stiles risked a glance at Peter’s face. Peter was giving him a thin smile. 

“It’s my nephew who has authority to punish you,” Peter said. 

“But you have authority over your nephew.” 

Peter gave a slow nod, accepting Stiles’ statement. 

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Peter said. 

“Being here isn’t what I expected,” Stiles said. 

“That’s also not an answer.” Peter gave him another of those cold smiles. “It’s your move.” 

Stiles looked down at the chessboard, considering the moves available to him. It seemed Peter would keep pushing until he got an answer and so Stiles would have to give one. He picked up his bishop and took Peter’s rook. 

“My answer is both yes and no,” Stiles said. “I miss my family and friends, but your nephew has been gracious and considerate of my needs.” He placed Peter’s rook down on the coffee table next to the board and sat back, waiting for whatever Peter was to do next. 

“Good move,” Peter said. Stiles wished he knew whether Peter was talking about the game or the question. 

Peter considered the chess board carefully. They played in silence a little longer and Stiles found himself fiddling with a loose thread that he’d found on the arm of the chair. He was still waiting for something horrible to happen. He was also second guessing every move, wondering if he should play his best or to let Peter win. But if he made deliberate mistakes, Peter might take offence at that. 

Fortunately, his distractedness was probably keeping him from playing his best so it looked like Peter was going to win. Stiles was glad of that. If he’d beaten Peter as easily as he’d beaten Derek, it would probably end badly for him. 

“Do you play chess often?” Peter asked after a while. 

“Not often,” Stiles answered. “Playing with Derek was probably the first time I’ve played in almost a year.” 

Peter nodded. He moved a knight. Stiles moved a pawn. 

“Do you play often?” Stiles asked. 

“I play sometimes with Derek and Cora. Neither of them provides a stimulating match.” 

Stiles wondered if Peter had picked him as a slave to give him someone to play chess against. But that couldn’t be it. Peter hadn’t known how Stiles would be at chess just like he couldn’t have known Stiles could cook. Whatever reason he’d had for choosing Stiles, it hadn’t been this. 

There weren’t many pieces left on the board now, which made it easier to see which moves to make, but Stiles didn’t think any of them looked good for him. He considered, trying to spot a way which wasn’t going to lead to his doom. He gave a frustrated sigh and then caught Peter’s cold smile. 

“It was a good game,” Peter said. 

“It’s not over yet,” Stiles said. 

Peter just looked down, casting his eyes across the arrayed pieces. His expression was silently eloquent. Stiles was determined not to give up, so he stared at the board longer, making moves and searching for some way to turn this into a victory. 

Even when his defeat was all but certain, he kept playing, watching Peter make the moves they both knew would result in Peter’s victory. Stiles’ king was caught by a rook and queen, moving sideways from check to check until it reached the edge of the board, pinned hopelessly by the two pieces. He watched his doom coming and made his final move with another frustrated sigh. 

Peter said the inevitable, “Check mate.” 

“Well done,” said Stiles, trying not to sound bitter. At least he hadn’t humiliated Peter. That had to be good. 

Stiles started to gather up the pieces and put them back in their box. Peter leaned back in his seat. 

“Have you ever played go?” he asked. 

“No. It seems like an interesting game though.” 

“Oh, it is. It requires a good mind for planning ahead. I would play it with Derek, but given his struggles with chess, I doubt he would provide a very stimulating game.” 

“And you think I might?” 

“With practice. Perhaps I should bring my set next time.” 

Peter stood and gave another of those cold smiles, saying, “Thank you, Stiles, for the entertaining game. I’ll see myself out.” 

And then he was gone, leaving Stiles there with the chess set, finally able to breathe freely again. Next time, Peter had said. Which meant this might be a common occurrence over the next month. Stiles wasn’t sure how he could get through games with Peter without doing something to get himself killed. 

***

Derek got home to find the house filling with the scent of fish and Stiles, but there was another scent beneath it, a very familiar one. He went through to the kitchen, where Stiles was getting ready for dinner. 

“Oh, hi,” Stiles said. “This will be about fifteen minutes.” 

“Peter was here,” Derek said. 

Stiles gave a nervous little nod. 

“What did he do?” Derek asked. 

“We played chess.” 

“Chess?” 

He supposed that was good, though he didn’t think that Peter would have come all the way here just to play chess, particularly when he’d known that Stiles would be alone. 

“He didn’t do anything else?” Derek asked. 

“No,” Stiles said. “He asked me if I was enjoying myself here.” 

He seemed nervous as he said that. Derek wondered what answer Stiles had given to that question, but he was afraid to ask. Besides, Stiles had made it clear that he didn’t want to be here. 

“He didn’t try anything?” Derek asked. 

Stiles actually gave a little smile, “I’m fine.” 

Derek needed to hear those words, to hear the sincerity of them. He relaxed a little. From the moment he’d picked up Peter’s scent, he’d worried that his uncle might have done something to Stiles, might have decide that the human was here to serve the whole pack, not just Derek. 

“Did anything else happen today?” Derek asked. 

“Not really. But I made you and Cora lunches for tomorrow. They’re in the fridge.” 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Derek said. But he went to look anyway. There were a couple of plastic boxes on the top shelf of the fridge. He pulled one out and lifted the lid. He stared at the contents. The contents stared back at him. He wondered if this was some joke on Stiles’ part. 

“It’s… cute,” Derek said. 

“Thanks,” said Stiles. 

“That wasn’t a compliment.” 

Stiles put something in the oven and then straightened up, putting aside oven gloves and turning back to Derek. The expression on his face might have been amusement or offence. 

“Cute is an insult in your world, is it?” Stiles asked. 

Derek put the lunchbox down and tried the other one. Maybe that one was for Cora. But the other box contained much the same thing, flowers and teddy bears. 

“It’s a bit girly,” Derek said. He could only imagine the reaction if he opened up something like this at work. 

“Girly?” Stiles said. “You say that like a bad thing, like having something associated with females is somehow degrading. You know what that is? That’s internalised misogyny.” 

“What?” Derek asked. 

Stiles crossed to him and took the lunchboxes, fixing the lids back on and putting them away in the fridge. He then faced Derek, standing close to him, so close that Derek smelled his scent with every breath. 

“You think flowers and cute stuff is stereotypically for girls and therefore it would be humiliating for you to be associated with it. That’s because you’ve internalised the notions that being female is somehow less than being male and so associating with something female would be demeaning.” 

“Are you saying I’m sexist?” Derek asked. 

Stiles jabbed a finger into Derek’s chest, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Why else would you be so appalled by having flowers in your lunch?” 

“I’m not sexist. It’s just I have to eat lunch with all the other guys at work.” 

“And you’re worried about what? That they’ll think you gay for having a girly lunch? Maybe you should have thought about that before you accepted a male sex slave.” 

Derek was angry at the insults but angrier still because he couldn’t deny Stiles’ logic. Derek didn’t have any real reason to dislike something that was cute. 

He was also a little distracted by the way Stiles’ eyes had fired up when he talked about this subject. There seemed to be a little anger in Stiles too, though it had a different flavour. Derek wasn’t sure if it was because Stiles felt his work was unappreciated or because this was a subject that truly mattered to him. 

“Are you scared of your reputation?” Stiles asked. “Are you afraid of what people will say about the big tough alpha’s heir if they see you with something cute?” 

He was looking Derek straight in the eye, fire in his expression and something almost mocking in his tone. He was animated, alive in every way, standing so close that Derek could imagine he could feel Stiles’ heartbeat across the distance between them. He was so fierce in his own way that Derek couldn’t help himself. 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Stiles’. The kiss was short. Then Stiles stepped back, eyes wide and surprised. 

Derek realised what he’d just done. 

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

He fled the room. 

He washed the day’s dust and sweat off under a very, very cold shower, and reminded himself he couldn’t lose control like that again. Stiles had enough to be worried about. Stiles didn’t deserve to spend the better part of a month wondering if Derek was going to pounce on him. 

Derek got cleaned up and dressed and then went downstairs. Cora was in the kitchen, exclaiming with delight at her prepared lunch. 

“I’m glad someone appreciates them,” Stiles said, with a pointed look in Derek’s direction. 

“Of course I do. It’s adorable,” Cora said. 

“If I could get some sushi rice, there’s a bunch of stuff I could try making.” 

And so Stiles and Cora settled into a conversation about Japanese food. Derek sat there and ate his fish and rice salad. He avoided looking at Stiles. Stiles avoided looking at him. Neither of them said a word about the kiss.


	6. Day Six

Cora wondered how bored Stiles must have been to create those lunchboxes, cute as they were. It couldn’t be good to be stuck in the house constantly. It wouldn’t do to just let him wander off on his own, but his welfare was the pack’s duty. Surely that included keeping him from boredom. So, as she set off for work the next day, she called up Isaac. After all, he’d suggested lacrosse practice with Stiles. 

Isaac agreed easily enough, but that might have been because Cora called him up early and he wanted to get her off the phone so he could go back to sleep. Still, she got him to promise to make sure Stiles got out of the house that afternoon. 

That done, she could focus on her own day, which looked to be much the same as every other day. She got to the coffee shop just before opening, helping her boss with the final preparations and then dealing with the hoard of caffeine-dependent workers who zombied in looking for their first fix. She dealt out lattes and Americanos as rapidly as possible, grateful when there was a simple order and silently cursing the people who insisted on a dozen modifications to what should be a straight-forward drink. She watched small coins drop into the tip jar and forced herself to smile even when people just walked away with their drinks. 

The initial rush died away and she got to wash mug, wipe tables, and get things ready for the next load. All part of the usual day of service in a place like this. 

Mid-morning, a guy walked in who stared at her in surprise. It took Cora a minute to place his face. It was Scott, the friend Stiles had met at the store. The one with the asthma. He glanced at her name badge, which just held her first name, probably confirming that his memories were correct and that she was who he thought she was. 

“What can I get you?” Cora asked, forcing cheerfulness. 

“Cora Hale?” Scott asked. 

“That’s right.” 

“You…” Scott looked around at the coffee shop. “Does your family own this place or something?” 

“No, I just work here.” 

He wasn't the first person to be surprised to find a werewolf working in the service industry. He probably wouldn’t be the last. But Cora had taken the job that she’d been able to get. She was absolutely certain that Peter’s connections could have helped her get one with much better pay and a much lower chance of members of the public throwing coffee on her, but she wasn’t going to use Peter’s connections for anything if she could help it. 

“But you guys are rich,” Scott said. 

Cora forced a smile and said, “We’ll only stay that way by keeping money coming in.” 

She didn’t want to explain that Peter was rich, but that Derek had spent almost all his share of the pack money on rebuilding the house and she wouldn’t get her share until she turned eighteen. She didn’t doubt for a second that Peter would give them money if they asked, but she and Derek had both decided that they would never ask. So long as they worked, they could keep the lights on and food on the plates. They owned the house outright and Derek’s job brought in enough money to keep them comfortably, and this way they could keep some sense of independence from Peter. 

“Do you want a coffee?” Cora asked. 

“Erm… yes… Er… Vanilla latte.” 

Cora made up the drink and watched Scott hesitate by the tip jar. She could practically see the cogs spinning behind his eyes and then he put in a generous tip. No doubt he wanted to make her feel cheerful and so help Stiles in a small way. 

Her frustration at his questions vanished and she felt a stab of compassion for him. 

“Do you play lacrosse?” Cora asked. 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“You might want to go to your lacrosse field for some practice this afternoon.” She handed him his drink. “Just an idea.” 

***

They were nearly done with the main structure of the house. There was still some work on the wiring to be done inside, but that was done by a different group. Derek’s team were finishing up the roof. It was a simple tiling job and then there was only the garden wall to do. After that, it would be handed over to the decorators. For once, they were comfortably ahead of schedule, and Derek was looking forward to seeing this project completed and a nice bonus for meeting the delivery date. 

Around him, the guys talked about being glad to have him back after the short break he’d taken for his birthday. All it took was a few days of leave for them to remember why they liked having a werewolf around. Derek went with the flow and lifted a load of tiles up to the roof, werewolf strength making light work of something they must have been struggling with last week. It was nice to feel appreciated, even if it was mainly for the fact he had supernaturally enhanced strength. 

Derek was happy to call lunch break for the crew and he went to find the plastic box with his lunch in it. When he lifted the lid, his felt a brief surge of disappointment. The contents were bland and dull. Stiles must have remade his lunch after those comments about it being too cute. 

Derek should be glad. At least this way he wouldn’t have to explain teddy bear sandwiches to anyone. But still he felt a little sad that there wasn’t something more interesting in his lunchbox. He also wondered if he’d hurt Stiles’ feelings. Stiles must have put a lot of effort into the other lunch. 

“You OK, man?” one of the guys asked. Derek looked up. 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“You’ve been staring at your lunch for about ten minutes. You not hungry?” 

Derek started eating his boring, ordinary lunch. 

He should probably apologise to Stiles. He wondered whether, if he apologised, Stiles would consider making him another of those inventive lunches for tomorrow. 

***

Stiles was sprawled on the couch browsing Wikipedia again when the front door opened. He sat up sharply, fearing another visit from Peter. But it was Isaac who walked in, offering Stiles a cheerful smile. 

“How’s it going?” Isaac asked. 

“Alright.” 

“Cora said you might be getting bored. Want to head down to the lacrosse field and get some practice in?” 

Stiles did want to get out of the house. He really, really wanted to. It felt like he’d been trapped inside forever. But still he thought of Peter dropping round unannounced. 

“Will that be OK?” Stiles asked. 

“Why the hell wouldn’t it be?” 

“I dunno. I’m supposed to be here to serve Derek.” 

“Are you serving Derek right now?” 

“No, I’m reading about the history of Iceland.” 

“Well come on then.” 

Isaac didn’t seem about to let this go, so Stiles set the laptop aside. He didn’t have a stick, but Isaac said he had a spare. And that was apparently settled. Isaac grabbed a duffel bag that he’d left by the front door and then they left the house. 

“I’m afraid we’ll have to walk,” Isaac said, setting off through the trees that surrounded the Hale house. “I don’t have a car.” 

“I thought the pack had loads of money,” Stiles said, though he didn’t really mind about walking. It felt good to stretch his legs. 

“Peter has loads of money,” Isaac said. “Derek and Cora are pretty comfortable, but they can’t afford to just splash out on stuff like new cars.” 

“You’re breaking a lot of werewolf stereotypes here.” 

“If I asked Peter, he’d probably give me something flashy, but I’m not sure Derek would forgive me if I went begging to Peter for money.” 

“They really don’t get on, do they?” 

Isaac gave him a little laugh and said, “And the ocean’s a little wet.” 

“So what is the story between them?” Stiles asked. 

They walked on between the trees, heading towards the edge of the preserve and the road that led to the school. Isaac seemed to know his way and walked along confidently. Stiles just trailed along with him, grateful for the feel of sun and wind, but still worried that something could go horribly wrong at any moment. 

“I don’t know the whole story,” Isaac said, “and you’re probably better off asking Derek because I only know pieces.” 

“Like Derek would ever give me a straight answer,” Stiles said. 

They reached the road and started walking along the edge of it. Isaac shifted the bag onto his other shoulder and stared thoughtfully ahead. After a little while, he spoke. 

“Peter wasn’t meant to be the alpha,” Isaac said. “Derek’s sister Laura was the alpha. She died and Peter became alpha and I don’t know the details. All I know is that Derek blames Peter. Neither of them like to talk about it.” 

“So if Peter became the alpha, does that mean he killed Laura?” 

“I don’t know. I was before I joined the pack. Before any of us did.” 

“’Us’ being you, Erica and Boyd?” 

“That’s right. Peter decided to grow the pack after he became alpha.” 

“So Peter picked you and offered you the bite,” Stiles said, nodding his understanding. 

But Isaac said, “No.” 

“Huh?” 

“It was Derek who picked us. I think it was meant to be some sort of peace offering between them. Peter let Derek decide who to invite into the pack. Derek chose us.” 

“Why?” 

Isaac went silent again. A car approached and the two of them stepped off the road so that the car could pass them, then they resumed walking. Stiles wondered if Isaac ever planned on answering. 

“We wanted somewhere to belong,” Isaac said quietly. Stiles would have placed money on that being only a partial answer, but he decided to let it go for now. They walked onwards, heading towards the school, turning the conversation to safer topics like Coach and whether they would stand a chance in the next season of lacrosse. 

When they reached the field, Isaac opened up his bag and pulled out a couple of sticks and a ball. He tossed one of the sticks to Stiles and they spent a while tossing the ball back and forth. Then Stiles went in the goal and tried to stop Isaac scoring. 

“No werewolf powers,” Stiles said. Isaac made a crossing the heart motion and started tossing the ball towards the goal for Stiles to block. 

They’d been at it a few minutes, with Stiles not humiliating himself too badly, when he noticed movement across the field. The ball caught him right on the arm while he was staring beyond Isaac. 

“Stiles? Are you OK?” Isaac asked. Stiles wasn’t paying attention to him anymore because hurrying across the field was Scott. Stiles abandoned the goal and rushed past Isaac to throw his arms around Scott. Stiles pulled him into a hug and laughed a little. 

Isaac cleared his throat. 

“Come on, Stiles,” Isaac said. “Let go of him. You’re acting like you haven’t seen him in years.” 

Stiles let go of Scott and turned to Isaac, grin still splitting his face. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Scott was coming.” 

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Isaac said. “Cora just told me to get you out of the house. Something to do with teddy bears which, frankly, I don’t even want to know.” 

“I bumped into Cora,” Scott said. “She suggested I might want to do some lacrosse practice.” 

Stiles gave a laugh, surprised and thrilled. 

“She is going to get cupcakes,” Stiles said. “No. She’s going to get brownies.” 

“Brownies?” Scott asked. “You’d give her brownies for just telling me to be somewhere you’d be?” 

Scott had eaten Stiles’ brownies before. Maybe they were a little over the top as a thank you for Cora. After all, all she’d done was tell Isaac to take him here and told Scott where he was. That wasn’t that major. But it was nice that she was thinking about him. 

“Are we going to stand about all day?” Isaac asked. “Or are we going to practice?” 

So practice they did. Two against one made it about fair, despite Isaac’s werewolf reflexes. They played for a bit, trying to get the ball into opposing goals. Stiles found himself smiling, enjoying himself. Freedom and running and fresh air and time spent with his bro; he’d needed this. 

Of course, they had to stop when Scott had an asthma attack, but until then it had been fun. Scott wheezed and pumped his inhaler, while Stiles hurried to his side, making sure he was OK. Scott waved off his concern. 

“I’m fine,” Scott said, tucking away the inhaler again. “Just a minor attack.” 

“Maybe we should call it a day,” Stiles said. Scott nodded his agreement. 

Then Isaac said, “I should get you back.” 

Stiles tried to think of an excuse, a reason why they would have to stay out longer. But they should get back to the house. Stiles had dinner to make. And there was always a chance Peter would show up unannounced again. So he settled for giving Scott another hug and saying, “I’ll see you soon.” 

“You’d better,” Scott said. 

By then, Isaac had put their gear back in his bag again and slung it over his shoulder. He was ready to go. Stiles gave Scott one last look and then followed Isaac from the field, back towards the Hale house. 

“You’re going to need to shower when we get there,” Isaac said. 

“Thanks. You’re sweaty too,” Stiles retorted. 

“No. You smell of him. Scott. Derek won’t like that.” 

“Like I give a damn what Derek likes.” 

“I’m serious. According to werewolf law, you belong to Derek for this month. Smelling of someone else isn’t good.” 

And Stiles knew he’d have to do it. Not because he thought Derek would mind, but because there was a chance Peter would show up and then he’d know. Peter still scared the crap out of Stiles. 

***

Derek stopped off at the store on his way home from work and it took him a while to find what he was looking for, so he was a little later than usual when he got back, as well as being tired and dirty as always. He opened the door to hear voices from the kitchen. Stiles was talking, telling some story about someone ending up covered in mud. Someone else laughed. Derek followed the sounds through, and saw Isaac chopping fruit at the counter, while Stiles stirred something on the stove, flailing around with his free hand as he talked. It was such a beautiful, domestic scene that a part of him wished he could put a frame around it and keep it forever, an image of his pack in safety and comfort. 

Then Stiles glanced in his direction and the smile froze on his face. An instant later, Stiles greeted him cheerfully, but the smile was a little forced. It didn’t have the same relaxed ease that it had had with Isaac. 

Derek set his purchases down on the kitchen table and then walked away. 

He knew this was his fault. He’d kissed Stiles. He shouldn’t have done that. Stiles had just been starting to relax, starting to not look so scared at everything, and then Derek had to go and ruin it by kissing him. No wonder Stiles was freaked out. Derek could literally do anything to Stiles right now and now Stiles knew that there were things Derek wanted to do. 

Derek got into the shower, putting the water on cold. He shivered beneath the spray, trying to keep his libido under control. He wasn’t going to take advantage of Stiles. He wasn’t going to pressure him in any way. If that meant another three and a bit weeks of cold showers and masturbating in the bathroom, so be it. 

When he went back downstairs, thoroughly showered and dressed in clean clothes, Stiles was putting the finishing touches on dinner. Cora was already home by then, sitting at the table and chatting easily with Isaac and Stiles about one of Stiles’ friends. Derek took his seat between them and the conversation faded to awkward silence. Derek noticed that the table was set for four and wasn’t particularly surprised. After all, this was a pack and Isaac and the others were supposed to feel welcome here. 

“Good day?” Derek asked Stiles. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Isaac took me out for some lacrosse practice.” 

Derek caught a glance that passed between Isaac and Cora. 

“I bumped into Stiles’ friend at the coffee shop,” Cora said. “The one with the asthma. Figured the two of them might want to catch up so I told him to go join the practice.” 

Derek nodded, wondering why Stiles hadn’t mentioned that his friend was there as well. A moment later, Derek felt a surge of jealousy. That was the friend Stiles had risked himself to help during the choosing. The friend Stiles had asked to call. Derek wondered if friend was all he was. 

Stiles set the food on the table and Derek started eating. If he had food in his mouth, at least he had an excuse not to talk. Beside him, Cora talked about a frustrating customer who’d ordered an iced coffee and then complained about it being cold. Stiles was smiling and nodding along at the appropriate moments, but mostly he was just staring at Derek. 

“You’re in a grumpy mood today,” Isaac commented to Derek. Derek just shrugged. 

“Is he ever not in a grumpy mood?” Stiles asked. 

Cora appeared to think about that question, like she was trying to recall some long distant event. Derek kicked her under the table. 

“I’m just eating,” Derek said. “It’s good food.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles said. “And thanks for the… stuff.” 

He waved a hand at the shopping bag which had been moved to the kitchen counter. He must have looked inside, seen the sushi rice and seaweed and things that Derek had bought. 

“Just in case you wanted to try things out,” Derek said. “No obligation. You don’t have to make us fancy lunches or anything, but I thought you might like it. In case you got bored.” 

“No. It’s great. And I’ll make sure whatever I make for you is suitably manly.” 

Stiles said that with such intense seriousness that Cora gave a snort of laughter. Derek kicked her under the table again. She kicked back this time. 

“I over-reacted yesterday,” Derek said. 

“Yes,” Stiles said. 

Derek didn’t want to be having this conversation now, with Cora and Isaac looking on, but Stiles had brought things round to the subject of the lunch and if Derek didn’t say something now then he’d have to find some excuse to bring the subject up later. He glared at his plate to avoid looking at anyone else, hating that he’d put himself in a position where he had to admit he was wrong. He tightened his grip on the fork and made himself speak. 

“I’m sorry I gave you a hard time over the lunch,” Derek said. “You put a lot of effort in and I should have been more grateful.” 

“That was the angriest apology I’ve ever heard,” Stiles said. 

Derek tightened his grip again on the fork, so tight that the metal bent in his hand. He was trying to apologise here and Stiles had to make everything so difficult. Stiles made everything difficult just by being here. 

“Forget it,” Derek said. He stood up and started to leave. 

“Derek, wait,” Stiles called out after him. “I’m sorry. Apology accepted. Now eat your dinner.” 

Derek returned to his seat, somehow even angrier now. Stiles had apologised so easily, accepting calmly what Derek had to force out. It made Derek feel like more of a monster for being so difficult about things. Derek picked up his bent fork and jabbed it into his food, eating the meal Stiles had put time and effort into preparing. 

The awkward silence dragged out as they ate and Derek felt himself to blame. Things had been comfortable when it had just been the other three. Stiles was happy enough around Cora and Isaac. It was just Derek that Stiles hated. 

Derek headed upstairs as soon as the meal was over, but even then he couldn’t escape. Cora followed him up the stairs. 

“Are you OK?” she asked. 

Derek listened to the sounds of Isaac and Stiles moving around in the kitchen, out of range of human hearing. 

“He hates me,” Derek said. 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Cora said. 

“He’s fine with you and Isaac, but around me he’s always tense. He hates me.” At least he didn’t stink of terror anymore, but there was still a trace of fear in his scent. 

“I’m not sure that’s hatred,” Cora said. “It may be something to do with the simmering sexual tension between the two of you.” 

She must have noticed his attraction to Stiles. Of course she had. Everyone with eyes probably had. It was no wonder Stiles was so awkward around him. 

“I need to find a way to convince him that I won’t act on it,” Derek said. 

“Maybe you should. It might make things easier.” 

“I’m not going to rape him!” Derek kept his voice quiet so that there wasn’t a chance of Stiles overhearing the conversation, but he still made his anger known. 

“Who said anything about rape?” Cora said. “It’s pretty obvious he’s attracted to you. He’s told me he finds you hot.” 

“Attraction is not consent. He told me he doesn’t want to sleep with me and I’m not going to pressure him. I need to reassure him of that somehow.” 

“Maybe you should try having a conversation with him that doesn’t involve snarling at each other. Talking is a wonderful thing, Derek. You should try it someday.” 

She gave him a grin and walked into her own room. 

Derek went back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Isaac was still there, stacking plates in the dishwasher. Derek gave him a sharp look. 

“Your dad will be wondering where you are,” Derek said. 

Isaac looked between Derek and Stiles and recognised the hint for what it was. 

“Well, I’ll see you guys soon,” he said. And was gone as quickly as he could be. 

Derek picked up the plates that Isaac had abandoned and slotted them into place in the dishwasher. Stiles watched him do so from where he was standing beside the sink. 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Derek said. “It was… thoughtless, given the situation. It won’t happen again.” 

“Oh,” said Stiles. “OK.” 

He didn’t look at relieved as Derek had expected him to be, so Derek continued. 

“I meant what I said when you first came here. I don’t intend to have sex with you. I just wanted to make that clear.”

“OK,” said Stiles. “Well, thanks for your honesty.” 

Derek nodded. Stiles turned away and picked up a dishtowel to wipe one of the pots he’d washed by hand. It seemed that talking wasn’t going to do anything to diminish the awkwardness between them. Derek shut the dishwasher with a thump and walked away.


	7. Day Seven

Stiles decided to stay in bed when Derek got up to go for work. Let the others deal with breakfast for a change. Besides, it was probably better to be out of sight when Derek found out what Stiles had made him for lunch. So he rolled over into Derek’s warm spot, and tried to stay asleep. He stayed snuggled and cosy while Derek grabbed clothes and moved about the room, and then he was alone again, breathing in Derek’s scent from the pillow. 

This was a ridiculous thing to do. It wasn’t like they were a couple. Derek had made it clear that they were never going to be an item, that he wasn’t interested in Stiles. So it was stupid for Stiles to sniff the pillows like he had a right to wrap himself up in the scent of him. 

He waited until he was sure Derek and Cora were both gone, then he went into the bathroom and took a long shower, using the time to remember the sight of Derek wearing nothing but a towel, to imagine what it would be like to run his hands or his tongue up those abs. He beat himself to a hollow climax under the flow of water, hoping that any scent of this would be gone by the time the werewolves got home. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, just in case. 

After a quick breakfast, Stiles broke the laptop out again. This time he was a little more focused in his reading. He looked up anything he could find about this tradition. It was rare enough that it tended to get reported in local newspapers when a werewolf pack called a choosing. Stiles pulled up every report and article he could find, and tried to do some calculations. 

He could find out easily enough how many werewolf packs there were, or at least get an estimate. Working out how often an heir turned twenty one was more difficult because it depended on birth rates and death rates and numbers Stiles didn’t know. He couldn’t just say it was every twenty-one years because the alpha might live decades after the heir came of age. So he went with an estimate that each pack had an heir come of age every fifty years, which was probably on the conservative side and had the advantage of being a nice round number for doing sums. 

The numbers didn’t add up. If he was right about the number of choosings that were called, then perhaps one pack in a hundred called a choosing. But every pack had a right to. It was one of those old traditions that lingered from the early days of integration when the werewolf and human leaders wrote treaties about how the two people could live in peace. It was something that every pack could do, but very few actually did. So why had Peter called a choosing now? 

And why choose him? 

Stiles tried to look for a pattern in the victims chosen during other pack’s ceremonies, but the only pattern seemed to be that there was no pattern, at least not one that was visible with the limited information he could gather from internet searches. 

One thing was clear. When he searched specific names, he found quite a few cases where the choosing victim was invited to become a werewolf after the month was over. That tied in to what Derek had said back at the start. Some people wanted to be chosen because they wanted to become werewolves, and this gave them a way into the pack. Maybe a quarter of choosings resulted in a werewolf bite. 

Of the other three quarters, results were mixed. Stiles found an interview with a guy who talked about how he’d got to have wild sex for a month. He’d spoken with a huge grin on his face about the experience, talking about how he’d been taken care of and how he and the alpha’s heir performed bedroom acts which bordered on the sublime. Another search found an article talking about injuries and abuses suffered by a choosing victim. The only conclusion Stiles could reach from reading all the different sources was that every pack seemed to handle this very differently. 

One thing Stiles was very pleased to note though was the lack of deaths. In theory, the alpha’s heir had the right to kill a disobedient slave. But he could only find one account of a death in the past two decades. The heir Kali had killed Julia Baccari after a choosing. Hunt though he might, Stiles couldn’t find a single shred of detail as to why Kali had killed her. 

Every other choosing, the victim made it to the end of the month alive. Some had a great time, it would seem, some were horribly abused, but they all survived. Which made Derek’s theory about Peter wanting him to kill Stiles seem a lot less likely. So why was Stiles here? 

***

Derek hadn’t opened his lunchbox. He’d taken the box that Stiles had left in the fridge with his name on it, but he didn’t know what lay within it. He spent the morning wondering, anticipating, thinking. Maybe Stiles had gone for something simple and ordinary again, not wanting to risk Derek’s annoyance. Maybe he’d gone cutesy again, experimenting with the sushi rice Derek had bought for him. Derek wanted to know, but he held off on knowing. The anticipation gave a pleasant buzz, like waiting for presents at Christmas. There was also the fear that maybe Stiles hadn’t done anything special. Derek wanted to hold off on that potential disappointment as long as possible. 

Derek delayed calling lunch break on the grounds that they’d nearly finished the roof ridge and so they should make sure to finish it in one go. But when the last ridge tile was in place, his team descended the scaffolding to get their food. Derek went too and picked up the lunchbox. 

With apprehension in his stomach, Derek lifted the lid. Stiles had made shapes out of the rice and nestled them in a bed of salad. Two round balls of rice, and a longer one, carefully positioned in the middle of the lunchbox. Stiles had given him a dick. There was even a soft cheese at the end of the longer rice shape. Stiles had given him an ejaculating dick for lunch. 

Derek started laughing. The sound bubbled up through him, unbidden and uncontrollable. It shook his entire body. Laughter took over, a sensation it had been forever since he’d felt. He had to put the lunchbox down so that he didn’t ruin Stiles’ masterpiece while he laughed so hard that tears ran down his face and his stomach ached from the unaccustomed exercise. 

“Are you OK?” one of the guys asked. 

Derek tried to explain, but he was still laughing too hard. He managed to get out the words, “Dick salad,” in between peels of hysteria. The rest of the guys looked into Derek’s lunchbox and laughed too, though without quite as much enthusiasm. 

Stiles had promised something manly and he’d certainly delivered. 

It seemed almost a shame to ruin Stiles’ artistry by eating it, but Derek was hungry. Derek managed to get himself under control enough to stick a fork into the rice and cheese. He started eating his original lunch. Then one of the guys made a comment about it being unprofessional to swallow dick at the workplace, and Derek nearly choked on rice when he started laughing again. Of course, that led to more jokes about his gag reflex. 

He had to face an afternoon of dick jokes and double entendres. One guy kept an almost straight faced when he asked whether Derek was going to finish prematurely. They started to dismantle the scaffolding now that the roof was done, and so there were comments about shafts and poles. Derek was asked to help deal with the long, hard pole between a guy’s legs. 

Derek would have threatened them with violence, except he was too busy laughing to make the threats seem plausible. He’d eaten dick for lunch! 

***

Stiles ate his lunch half-expecting Derek to come barging in furiously, demanding an explanation for the lunchbox which had seemed like a good idea at the time. Stiles didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He probably hadn’t been thinking. Derek had basically stated that he wasn’t interested in Stiles and some childish part of him had wanted revenge for the rejection. 

But there was no sign of Derek. His anger would probably come later in the day. Stiles decided to make brownies as a peace offering. He still had three weeks here. He couldn’t afford to alienate Derek any more than he already had done. 

He was in the kitchen weighing out ingredients when he heard the front door. He froze, bracing himself for Derek’s fury. Instead, Peter stepped into the kitchen and said calmly, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

He was holding a wooden board like a tray, with two small pots balanced on top of it. No doubt the go board that Peter had mentioned last time he was here. 

“I was baking brownies,” Stiles said. 

“Well, I would hate to intrude in such a worthwhile endeavour. Carry on. I can wait.” 

Peter set the board down on the table and went over to the coffee machine to fix himself a cup. Stiles turned back to his measuring, sieving out flour into a bowl. He had never felt nervous about brownies before, but now he was aware of Peter watching his every move. He tried to work quickly, but also wanting to be careful. He didn’t want to mess up now that Peter was here. 

“I came round yesterday,” Peter said, “but you weren’t in.” 

“Yes. Isaac took me out to practice lacrosse.” 

“Ah.” 

“Derek was out at work, so he was OK about it,” Stiles added, feeling the need to justify himself in front of the alpha. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but still he kept thinking of those articles he’d read this morning about the violence sometimes suffered by those who were chosen. 

Stiles kept working. The recipe was simple enough and soon he was pouring the mixture into trays. He put them into the oven and set a timer. 

Now he had no excuse to not pay attention to Peter. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, coffee mug on hand, the go board in front of him. He took the pots of pieces and set one beside another chair. He gestured for Stiles to sit. 

“Do you know the rules?” Peter asked. 

“Not really. I know it’s something to do with capturing territory and trying to surround the other person’s pieces.” 

“That is the heart of it. The rules are simple, but the strategies and techniques can take a lifetime to learn.” 

Peter explained the rules, talking about placement of pieces and how to capture a territory. Then they started playing. Stiles put his pieces on the board carefully, trying to spot ways he was opening himself up to having his pieces taken. Each time he thought long and hard about his next move, only for Peter to put his pieces down almost immediately. Stiles had a worrying feeling that he was going to get annihilated in this game. 

He was glad when the timer went off and he got up from the game to get the brownies out of the oven, cutting them from the tins and putting them on a rack to cool. Peter remained at the table to whole time, staring at the board. 

“You play very defensively,” Peter commented. 

“Is that bad?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s a valid approach, but it’s one to be careful of. If you are only defensive, you will never take control of the board. You must learn to watch for opportunities to be more aggressive, to take advantage of whatever openings you opponent provides.” 

“A good defence is a good offense, and all that, you mean?” 

“Precisely. A defensive strategy relies on you holding your ground and waiting for your opponent to make a mistake. An aggressive strategy can force your opponent to make mistakes.” 

“Do you plan on making mistakes?” Stiles asked. 

“If I’d planned them, they wouldn’t be mistakes.” 

Stiles still wasn’t sure what to make of this. What reason could Peter have for teaching him to play board games? The simple explanation was that Peter just wanted someone to play against, but he was sure the answer couldn’t be that easy. 

Stiles finished with the brownies and returned to the board, staring at the array of pieces. Peter was definitely winning. Stiles thought about Peter’s words and decided to try a new approach, playing his pieces to try and capture Peter’s, rather than just aiming to make it difficult to be captured. 

That plan fell apart extremely quickly. About five moves later, Peter captured a clump of Stiles’ pieces and removed them from the board. 

“Perhaps I should have added that aggression should be tempered with planning and strategy,” Peter commented. 

“Right now, my only strategy is to try and not suffer a completely humiliating defeat.” Stiles glared at the board. 

“If you had defeated me on your first attempt,” Peter said, “I would have been very impressed.” 

He spoke in the past tense, seemingly believing that the outcome of the game was a foregone conclusion. Maybe Stiles could use that. He was playing the player as well as the game. Peter was acting like a teacher now, giving Stiles instructions but also anticipating Stiles’ reactions in order to win. Peter was planning things out, strategizing, using his knowledge of the game to plan for Stiles’ probable moves. 

Maybe the answer was to play unpredictably. Peter couldn’t plan for every single possible move that Stiles might make. Peter had talked about mistakes. Maybe if Stiles acted unexpectedly, it would create an opening. 

Given that the only other option was certain defeat, Stiles decided to go for it. He picked up his counter and set it in a random empty space on the board. When Peter looked at it with a puzzled frown, Stiles smiled. Peter hadn’t expected that move. 

When Peter caught the smile, his frown deepened, studying Stiles’ face as much as the board. Stiles knew that he was still almost certainly going to lose the game, but at least he’d been able to catch Peter off-guard a little. 

Peter took the longest thinking time of any move this game. He was probably trying to work out what possible strategy Stiles had for choosing that random space. At last, Peter put down his stone next to the main cluster of Stiles’ pieces. Stiles put another lone piece down. Stiles didn’t have a strategy for that choice and that was clearly unnerving Peter. 

Stiles realised he was trying to bluff a werewolf and the weirdest thing was that it seemed to be working. Stiles bit his lower lip to hold in his smile as Peter frowned at the piece layout. Stiles was acting like he had some secret plan, but his plan was to have no plan. 

This time, Peter put his piece down beside one of Stiles’ random stones. 

Stiles decided that counted as a victory. He leaned forward over the game again and tried to think strategically, because random stones might have been a good distraction, but they wouldn’t win him the game. 

Not that he was likely to win the game. 

They played a little longer. After a while, Stiles got some plates out and put a brownie on each one. They ate gooey, chocolaty goodness while Peter captured Stiles’ territory yet again. At least, Stiles admitted defeat. He’d been trying to push back for about an hour, but was hemmed in by Peter’s stones. Each new attempt to capture space just ended in futility. 

“I was beginning to think you would keep trying all night,” Peter said. 

“I don’t like to admit being beaten,” Stiles said. 

“I can see that.” 

Stiles glanced at the clock, “Well, I should get started on dinner.” 

He got up from the table and went to the fridge to pull out the ingredients for his planned meal. He wondered if he should expand his plans to include Peter but he wasn’t sure how to ask if Peter would be staying. Peter certainly didn’t seem in a hurry to leave as he slowly put the pieces back in their pots. 

“You did very well for your first game,” Peter said. 

“Thanks. Is it usual for werewolf packs to play board games with their chosen slaves?” 

“No. It’s also unusual for a chosen slave to be put to work in the kitchen.” 

Stiles tried to sound casual, saying, “Well, Derek’s out at work so there’s not much I can do as a sex slave when he isn’t here.” 

“You could suck me off,” Peter said. 

Stiles dropped the knife he’d been holding. He leapt backwards as it bounced off the counter and clattered to the floor, narrowly avoiding getting impaled through the foot. 

He quickly bent to pick up the knife, trying to find some way to get out of this without seeming like a disobedient slave who deserved to be killed. 

“I’m not sure Derek would like that,” Stiles said. He hoped Derek wouldn’t like that. 

“I mean,” Stiles continued, “I’m supposed to serve him and not you. I realise that I’m cooking food for more than just Derek, but there’s a big difference between preparing meals for the pack and serving the entire pack sexually. And I thought you guys were big on the whole territory thing and not encroaching one what someone else sees as theirs. After all, I am supposed to be Derek’s.” 

Stiles forced himself to stop talking and waited, heart pounding, for Peter to spell his doom. 

But Peter smiled. 

“Good answer,” he said. “Excellent excuse. What was your excuse with Derek?” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, trying to sound calm even though he was sure his heartbeat must sound like a drum to Peter. 

“Did you give Derek an equally logical reason why you can’t have sex with him?” 

Stiles’ mouth felt dry. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak but he had to try. He had to say something. He forced himself to look Peter in the eye. 

“I’ve done anything Derek has asked of me,” Stiles said. Technically, it was true, but only because Derek hadn’t really asked anything of him. 

Peter’s smile widened. 

“Of course you have,” Peter said. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt. He knew that Derek and Stiles weren’t having sex. 

Stiles realised he was still holding onto the kitchen knife. He was clutching it like a weapon, but it wasn’t like it would do any good if Peter decided to attack him. Stiles put the knife in the dishwasher and took a clean one out of the drawer. He tried to focus on the task of chopping vegetables, trying to act like he wasn’t scared. Peter could probably smell his fear, but that was no reason to make it any more obvious than it already was. 

“Tell me, Stiles,” Peter said, “are you attracted to men? To boys?” 

Stiles stared at the vegetables on the chopping board and set to work, trying to keep his hands from shaking. 

“Um,” he said. “Yes. Sort of. Sometimes. I mean, I like girls. I generally would be attracted to girls but sometimes there’s a guy. I’m open minded.” 

“Let me be more specific. Do you find my nephew attractive?” 

There was no point lying to a werewolf. 

“Yes,” said Stiles. 

“Have you thought about my nephew in a sexual way?” 

Stiles hesitated, but it was still pointless to lie to a werewolf, so he said, “Yes.” 

“Have you told him that?” 

“No.” 

“Perhaps you should.” 

“Derek’s made it clear he isn’t interested in me,” Stiles said. 

“Stiles, I have two advantages over you here. One: I know my nephew. And two: I have a werewolf’s sense of smell. This house stinks of arousal, and it’s not just yours. Unless my nephew has been viewing porn in the kitchen, it’s safe to say that Derek is interested in someone and I very much doubt it’s Cora.” 

“It could be Isaac,” Stiles said. 

Peter made a face and simply said, “No.” 

“Derek’s told me he doesn’t want to have sex with me.” 

“Derek has strong feelings on the subject of being taken advantage of. He doesn’t want to take advantage of someone else. He will not take advantage of this situation I have gifted to him.” Peter waved a hand at Stiles. 

“You have three weeks left of this arrangement, Stiles,” Peter continued, “and you are both wasting it. If you have refused Derek or led him to believe that you don’t want to have sex with him, he won’t press the issue. If you’ve changed your mind, you may have to make the first move.” 

Stiles considered this, thinking back over Derek’s words the previous evening. Derek had said that they weren’t going to have sex, but he might have been trying to reassure Stiles, promising that his virtue would be intact. It was possible that Derek wasn’t refusing sex because of a lack of attraction, but out of a sense of chivalry and respect. If that was true, then Stiles was even more inclined to want to sleep with Derek. Someone who cared about his feelings like that was someone he could want to be with. Was it actually possible that someone like Derek could be interested in him? 

Peter stood up from the table, gathering the go board and pieces together. Stiles heard the front door open and shut. 

“Think about what I’ve said, Stiles,” Peter said. 

And then Derek was there in the kitchen doorway, looking absolutely furious. Stiles had almost forgotten about the stupid lunchbox idea. One look at Derek’s face told him that any hope of enjoyable sex was probably out the window now. 

“Hello, nephew,” Peter said cheerfully. “I was just leaving. I don’t want to intrude.” 

He stepped past Derek who turned to glare after him. Stiles waited by the kitchen counter, frozen in fear of what might be about to happen. He heard the door open and shut again. Then Derek turned to face Stiles, anger fading into concern on his face. 

“Are you OK?” Derek asked. 

“I, yeah, I’m sorry about the lunch,” Stiles said. He set aside the kitchen knife and raised his hands in a gesture that was almost surrender. 

Derek looked puzzled, “Why are you apologising?” 

“Because it was childish and stupid.” 

“I haven’t laughed that much in forever.” 

“You’re not mad?” Stiles asked. 

“I’ve been dealing with dick jokes all afternoon, but I found it funny. Are you… Did Peter say something? Or do something?” 

“He knows we’re not having sex,” Stiles admitted. 

Derek looked almost scared. 

“Did he threaten you or hurt you?” Derek asked. He started to walk across the kitchen towards Stiles but then stopped a cautious distance away, as though nervous about getting closer. 

It was sweet to realise that Derek was actually worried about him. That made Stiles smile a little despite himself. 

“It’s fine. He just said that we were wasting this opportunity.” 

“Stiles, whatever Peter might say, I meant it about not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do. If he gives you a hard time, I’ll handle it.” 

It seemed Peter was right. Stiles wondered if he was right about the rest of it too. 

“What if I changed my mind?” Stiles asked. 

“Stiles, if Peter’s putting pressure on you…”

“It’s not like that. It’s just… when I first came here, I didn’t know you. I was scared about being raped and used but you’re not like that. And, well, if my objections were to no longer be an object, would you… I mean… God, I suck at this. I just… You’re hot! You are so ridiculously hot. And I have to admit that when I said no, I hadn’t seen you in a towel. Not that this is just about your abs. It’s also that you’re the sort of person who wouldn’t take advantage and I know people shouldn’t be rewarded for basic decency, but the fact is you’ve been more than decent about all this, even though you could easily get away with not being and… well… now I’m babbling again with is probably the least sexy thing in the universe, so feel free to tell me to shut up if you want to.” 

“Stiles,” Derek cut in, “are you trying to say that you want to have sex with me?” 

“Yes. Maybe. If you want to, that is.” 

“And you’re not just saying this because Peter is making you?” 

“No! God, no. I promise.” Stiles took a step towards Derek, closing the distance between them. “I want to have sex with you.” 

Derek put a hand behind Stiles’ head and pulled him in for a kiss. It was soft and tentative. Stiles imagined he could almost taste Derek’s nervousness. 

Stiles worked a hand around Derek’s back and deepened the kiss. Derek responded eagerly, one hand still on Stiles’ neck, the other working around to his ass and squeezing gently. Stiles moved into the touch, pressing his chest against Derek’s, warmth against warmth, flesh against flesh. 

Each moment, Derek became more eager, moving from tender to almost devouring. Stiles worked a hand under Derek’s shirt, feeling the warm skin beneath. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening, that someone like Derek would be interested in him, would be kissing him like this. 

“Oh dear god!” 

Derek broke away from Stiles quickly and they turned, flushed and flustered, to the kitchen doorway, where Cora stood. They stood there frozen for a moment. 

“This is a kitchen,” Cora said. “It’s unhygienic. If you’re going to have sex, do it upstairs.” 

“We weren’t having sex,” Derek said. 

“You looked halfway there and, frankly, it’s about damn time. Now go. Shoo. Nice big bed upstairs for you to do whatever you want to do where I don’t have to watch.” She came into the kitchen, making shooing gestures towards the door. “Go. I’ll clear this lot up and order us some takeout. Go.” 

Stiles looked at Derek and shrugged. Derek caught him by the hand and towed him out of the room and up the stairs. Stiles started laughing, though he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anticipation. 

Once inside the bedroom, the door firmly shut behind them, Derek seemed to get nervous again. Stiles decided that making the first move might have to be his thing. He grabbed the hem of Derek’s shirt and lifted it upwards, exposing that wonderful washboard. Stiles bent and ran his tongue over Derek’s skin, above his navel, while Derek rid himself of the shirt. 

Derek put his arms around Stiles’ legs, just under his ass, and lifted him up. Stiles gave a little, surprised shriek of laughter as Derek carried him across the room and deposited him on the end of the bed. 

“I’ve had to endure jokes all day about eating your dick,” Derek said. “Time to see what it’s really like.” 

He reached for the flies of Stiles’ jeans and then Stiles rocked his hips up on the bed to push his pants and briefs down to about his knees. Stiles was still mostly dressed, but that didn’t stop Derek diving right in, wet tongue and hot mouth, licking up the length of Stiles’ growing erection. His fingers toyed with Stiles’ balls while that mouth set to work licking and sucking every inch of the shaft. 

“Oh god,” Stiles groaned. He had his hands on the mattress, leaning back and just giving into the sensations. Pressure and warmth and… 

“Oh god,” Stiles groaned again, and then shuddered as the orgasm overtook him. He wondered if this was embarrassingly quick or if Derek was just good at this. 

When he regained some control over himself again, he straightened up and looked down at Derek, kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed, wiping a trickle of white from the corner of his mouth. 

“Wow,” Stiles said. 

“First time you’ve done that?” Derek asked. 

“First time I’ve done anything really.” 

“How far do you want to go?” 

“To the moon and back.” It was entirely possible that the orgasm had just short-circuited his brain. 

Derek looked serious still, “If this is your first time, I don’t want to move too fast or go further than you’re comfortable. We’ve got time.” 

Three weeks. Three weeks to have sex. It was a chilling thought that this would be over when the next full moon rose, but that was just another reason to make the most of this. 

“Stop being all chivalrous and fuck me,” Stiles said. 

Derek laughed a little and stood, shedding his pants and the rest of his clothes. Stiles yanked his t-shirt over his head. He kicked off his shoes and jeans, bending down to get rid of his socks too, because there was something decidedly unsexy about wearing only socks. Then he scooted backwards on the bed. 

Derek diverted to a bedside cabinet and came back with lube, before sitting on the mattress beside Stiles. 

“Roll over,” Derek said. “If this is your first time, we need to be careful about preparation.” 

Stiles wondered how many times Derek had done this but decided against asking. He rolled onto his front, waiting for whatever Derek planned to do next. 

He felt Derek’s hands on his ass, moving slowly across his skin, almost in a massage. They worked over his cheeks and then slowly pulled them apart. Stiles heard the click of the lube’s cap and then something cold hit his asshole. He gave a hiss of surprise. 

“Sorry,” Derek said, but there was amusement in his tone. 

Then Stiles felt a finger ease into his opening, working the lube inside. It was felt, to have something moving inside him like that, but not unpleasantly so. 

“Are you OK?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“If you change your mind or you want me to slow down,” Derek started. 

“Damn it, Derek! Do you really think, if I was upset, I’d be quiet about it?” 

“Apparently not,” Derek said. So he started working that finger with a bit more enthusiasm. In and out, around, stretching Stiles slowly open. 

After a while, a second finger joined the first. Derek was still going carefully, stretching, easing the fingers apart to prepare the way. At this rate, Stiles thought it would be the next ice age before Derek was ready to fuck him. 

Then Derek’s fingers brushed against something inside him and Stiles stopped caring. A shiver of excitement passed through him. 

“Oh!” Stiles said. Derek made an amused sound and those questing fingers hunted for that point again, brushing gently against it and encouraging Stiles’ recovering penis to get involved again. 

“Wow,” said Stiles. “Yeah… That’s…. yeah.” 

“Are you actually speechless?” Derek asked, laughter in his voice. 

“Less talking,” said Stiles. “More that.” 

So Derek complied. He eased a third finger inside, dancing his fingertips against Stiles’ prostate. Stiles groaned and bit into the pillow his face was pressed against. 

When Derek pulled his hand free, Stiles couldn’t help a moan of disappointment, but then Derek was moving, kneeling astride Stiles’ legs, positioning himself. Stiles’ heart was pounding but it wasn’t from fear this time. 

He felt something thicker than the fingers press inside, slowly, carefully. He might have groaned again as Derek buried his length inside Stiles. Derek drew back out, then in again, still slowly, excruciatingly slowly. 

Stiles tried to buck his hips, trying to speed up the rhythm. Derek responded, speeding up, setting up a steady rhythm of thrusts. He shifted the angle and found Stiles’ prostate again. Each thrust now drove against that point and Stiles claws at the sheets as his body reacted. He rocked his hips as Derek sped up, humping his own erection against the bed. 

It didn’t last long, for either of them. Derek quickly shot his load inside Stiles and, as he felt that sensation, Stiles quickly followed. 

Stiles lay there, completely spent from two orgasms in such quick succession. 

Derek pulled off him, pulled away. 

Stiles made a wordless noise of disapproval, grabbing Derek’s arm and tugging him back to the bed. 

“We should get cleaned up,” Derek said. 

“Later,” Stiles said. He tugged on Derek’s arm again. Derek gave in, lying down beside Stiles and pulling the covers over them. Stiles rolled a little onto one side so he could throw an arm over Derek and pull him in close. He snuggled against Derek’s chest, drifting off to the sensation of Derek’s fingers slowly caressing his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was surprised myself at how quickly we got to "screwing like bunnies" territory, but once they acknowledged their attraction, the characters just insisted. Don't worry, there's still plenty of room for confusion and lack of communication in the future. :)


	8. Day Eight

Stiles woke up slightly sore, very hungry, and extremely sticky. The events of the previous evening came back to him in a rush. He had had sex with Derek Hale. Derek Hale, who was currently pressed up against him, an arm and leg thrown over Stiles like he planned to trap him in this bed forever. Which would be awesome, if it weren’t for the fact that Stiles needed a pee. And a shower. But mostly a pee. 

Stiles tried to ease out from under Derek’s limbs, but the movement woke him up. Derek opened his eyes and saw Stiles trying to pull away from him. For a moment, Stiles could swear he saw fear in those eyes. 

“Do you mind letting go of me?” Stiles said. “Nature’s calling.” 

Derek quickly pulled his limbs in and Stiles could climb out of bed. 

It was early, but they’d gone to sleep early and Stiles thought that he was basically done with sleep. He headed for the bathroom and took a long shower to try and rid himself of the crusted and disgusting cum that was stuck to him. Stiles took the time to brush his teeth as well, even though he usually waited until after breakfast for that. 

He returned to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, and saw Derek sitting up on the bed. Stiles wondered if he should have waited until after round two for a shower. But he’d been pretty disgusting and he didn’t think it would have been particularly sexy. 

“Hey,” he said, offering Derek a smile. Derek just sat there, looking nervous. 

“Are you…” Derek started. “Was that…” 

Stiles crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips. 

“That was awesome,” Stiles said. “In fact… do we have time to go again before you have to get ready for work?” 

Derek glanced at the clock, then said, “Maybe we could multitask.” 

Which was how Stiles ended up back in the shower, this time with Derek. Stiles knelt on the tiles under a spray of water and sucked Derek off, while Derek’s fingers twisted into his hair. Stiles had never done this before, but sucking seemed to be the right approach. When he did that, Derek moaned and tightened his grip on Stiles. 

Stiles held on to Derek’s ass for balance, while jacking himself off in the soapy water with his other hand. 

It was quick and crude and so different from the slow care of last night, but it was awesome in its own way too. 

Once he was clean for a second time, Stiles threw some clothes on and headed down to the kitchen. 

He was feeling absolutely famished and threw everything he needed for a fry up in a pan, and then checked what he could do for Derek and Cora’s lunches, since he’d been distracted the night before. He threw something together using some salad and the cartons of leftover Chinese takeout that Cora must have ordered and then given up on them eating. He put a few brownies in as well. 

Then he turned his attention back to the breakfast and was serving out large portions when Derek arrived. He took a plate in exchange for a kiss, and then looked at the containers on the counter. 

“Is that lunch?” Derek asked with a grin. 

“Yeah, it’s not particularly creative today. I got a little distracted.” Stiles grinned too. They were still there, grinning at each other, when Cora came in. She took one look and rolled her eyes, then went to grab some of the food for her breakfast. 

“You’d better not look this gooey for the rest of the month,” she said. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said, but he couldn’t force the grin from his face for long. 

“You two are going to be intolerable, aren’t you?” she said. 

Stiles felt a foot rubbing against the side of his leg and he suspected that Cora might be right. He resisted the urge to laugh. 

“Down boy,” Stiles said to Derek, knocking the roving foot away. “You’ve got work to get to.” 

“I might be back a little later today. Not much later. I’ve just got an errand to run.” 

“An errand?” Cora asked. 

Derek gave a quick shake of his head. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to say in front of Stiles. Stiles should probably feel annoyed or suspicious about that, but instead he felt a flutter of butterflies in his stomach as he wondered what Derek was planning. 

“OK,” Stiles said. 

The two werewolves headed off and Stiles was left to clear up the breakfast things. Even washing up the frying pan, he kept grinning at the memory of last night and the anticipation of what might come when Derek got back from his mysterious errand. 

He took the opportunity to put the sheets in the laundry. He cleaned up the bedroom while he was at it, finding a vacuum cleaner to do the floors. When he was done, the sheets were ready to hang out, and then he decided to sort out tomorrow’s lunches before he got distracted by having sex with Derek. 

He boiled up the sushi rice and started shaping it into new forms, cutting bits of seaweed to make features. He grinned as he imagined Derek’s face when he opened his lunch tomorrow. He hummed along to himself as he worked. 

***

Stiles was reading Wikipedia and doing an air drum solo to the music in his head when Peter walked into the house. Stiles froze, arms out in mid drum. Peter just stood there, go board under his arm. 

“This probably looks crazy,” Stiles said. Peter nodded, but he smiled. 

“I take it things went well with Derek,” Peter said. 

“Erm... very well.” Stiles had a horrible feeling he was blushing. He sat up straight and put the laptop aside when Peter came into the room and put the board down on the coffee table. 

“People often don’t go after the things they want,” Peter said, “and usually the reason is fear. Fear of consequences, fear of failure, fear of what other people will say. Fear can make you cautious, but it can also be crippling. Sometimes, you need to act despite fear.” 

“Fear is the mind killer,” Stiles said. 

“An excellent way of putting it.” 

Stiles picked up a stone and placed it on the board, shrugging, “I stole it from a book.” 

“Perhaps a book I should enjoy reading,” Peter said. Then he picked up a stone of his own and the game began. 

Stiles wondered if this was going to be a daily thing, with Peter showing up to play board games with him. He just hoped he wouldn’t do so humiliatingly badly with today’s game. 

As they placed pieces down on the board, Stiles wondered if Peter was lonely. He had his pack, but the pack gatherings didn’t seem to include him. Derek had made it perfectly clear that Peter wasn’t wanted in this house. Maybe Peter just wanted someone who was literally a captive audience, someone who would have no choice but to play games with him and give him company. 

Stiles just wished they were games he could win. 

“Have you ever played rummikub?” Stiles asked. 

“I can’t say that I have.” 

“It’s a game involving patterns of numbers. There’s an element of luck to it, but it’s also about spotting how you can rearrange the pieces in play to let you put your tiles down. You might enjoy it.” 

“Perhaps I will look out for a copy. Is this your way of saying you don’t enjoy go?” 

“It would just be nice to play a game where I’m not likely to get horrifically defeated.” The board was showing a similar trend to yesterday, with Peter seeming to control the play. 

“The learning of a thing can be as enjoyable as the winning of the thing.” 

“Yeah, but winning’s still pretty cool once in a while.” 

“Well, if you insist on mixing up the games, I believe there’s an old copy of Monopoly around somewhere.” 

“Do you know Monopoly wasn’t actually intended as a game?” Stiles asked. When Peter raised a curious eyebrow, Stiles continued, “It was actually intended as an educational tool to explain why big monopolies are a bad idea. Basically, it’s a lesson about how capitalistic models can lead to one person having everything and everyone else suffering, and how if you don’t own land, you’re basically screwed.” 

Peter was silent for a minute, considering, “That explains why it is such a frustrating game.” 

“Too much like real life. But I suppose that’s not a problem if you’re the one with all the money.” 

“Having money does make capitalism more enjoyable,” Peter agreed. 

They played on, Stiles falling back on defensive moves to simply avoid his territories being annihilated. Peter must have noticed, but he didn’t comment on it today. Stiles wondered if Wikipedia had a page of strategies for winning at go. 

“Have you been playing this game long?” Stiles asked after a while. 

“Most of my life. My sister and I used to play. Laura and I would play occasionally, but she preferred draughts.” Peter made at distasteful face at that last part. Stiles didn’t know anyone could look down on draughts like that. He wondered what on earth Peter had against it. 

“Do werewolves generally play a lot of board games?” Stiles asked. 

“Quite often. They are a good way of building a sense of fellowship in the pack. Derek however would rather watch movies, which I feel is the most anti-social way of being social. No one actually interacts with anyone else.” 

“You don’t like movies?” 

“I have nothing against them, but they don’t encourage connections between people.” 

“But kicking their asses at go does?” Stiles had to remind himself that he shouldn’t push it. Peter could still order his death for being a disrespectful slave. He needed to reign things in. 

“We are communicating. We’re learning something of each other’s nature. We’re talking.” 

“True. But you seem to focus on games for two people. There are plenty of games which can be played with more people that would surely be better.” 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Peter said. “Perhaps I should suggest this to Derek when he returns from work.” 

“Perhaps,” Stiles said. 

***

Derek thought his coworkers were more disappointed than he was that his lunch didn’t contain anything interesting today. He did consider telling them that it was because he’d been too busy eating the real thing, but decided that they didn’t need to know about his sex life. 

He got through the day with minimal dick jokes and they finished the garden wall. Derek dismissed his guys a little early and then went round the site double-checking everything against the work list, documenting the work with photographs, and signing off completion on all of it. He headed into the office with the paperwork and got the project signed over to the decorators to finish off the insides of the property. 

“Nice to be ahead of schedule for once,” his boss commented. “Completion rates have definitely improved since you came on board.” 

“Werewolf strength does have its advantages,” Derek commented. His boss had been doubtful at first about bringing in a werewolf but Derek was glad to prove him wrong. 

“Keep this up and I may have to give you a pay rise.” 

“I look forward to it,” Derek said. 

Tomorrow would involve the tedium of getting briefed on the next project along with site inspections and assigning of teams. Derek much preferred the parts of the job that involved getting his hands dirty and doing something, actually seeing something appear where before there had been nothing. Still, the paperwork and planning were what kept this place running as a business. 

Derek left the office and drove to his next destination, the errand he’d mentioned to Stiles. He parked his car in front of the police station and walked in, managing to smile at the deputy on the front desk. 

“Can I help you?” she asked. 

“I was hoping to meet with Sheriff Stilinski. Is he available?” 

“I can check. What’s it regarding?” 

“His son.” 

Derek saw her eyes snap sharply towards him, studying him carefully for just a moment. Derek knew that look. That was the look of someone trying to work out if he was a werewolf. The deputy picked up her phone and rang through to an internal number. Less than a minute later, she was buzzing him in and directing him to an office. Derek thanked her. 

Sheriff Stilinski was standing waiting by his office door when Derek got there. He looked pale, with shadows under his eyes and a weariness in his posture. But he was glaring at Derek with fiery hatred. He let Derek into the office and shut the door behind him. 

“If you are here to tell me that my son has failed you in some way and you intend to kill him, I should warn you that I’m quite capable of putting a bullet through your skull and to hell with the consequences. Besides, I know a few places where I can bury a body and be reasonably sure of it not being discovered for some time.” 

Derek probably should have expected a reaction like this, but it was still unnerving to hear someone so calmly talk about murdering him. He was starting to see where Stiles got his ability to stand up to an alpha from. 

“Actually,” Derek said, “I came to invite you to dinner.” 

“Dinner?” the sheriff had been caught off-guard by that. 

“Stiles misses you. According to tradition, he needs to stay with the pack for the month, but there’s nothing that says he can’t have visitors.” 

“You’re inviting me to visit my son?” 

“Would tomorrow night be suitable?” Derek asked. He was working on the assumption that the sheriff would say yes. 

“I… is he… Yes.” 

Derek gave a nod and continued, “I haven’t told Stiles I’m inviting you. I think it will be a nice surprise for him. There’s a friend of his I would like to invite too. The one with the asthma.” 

“Scott,” the sheriff supplied. 

Derek still felt a stab of jealousy towards Scott, even now that he and Stiles had declared their mutual attraction. But this invitation wasn’t about him. This was about doing something nice for Stiles. He was pretty certain Stiles would want Scott to be there. 

“Can you pass the message to him?” Derek asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Do you have my address?” 

There was a hesitation and then the sheriff said, “I can look it up.” 

Derek suspected that the sheriff already had his address. He also suspected that the sheriff had spent the past week fighting the urge to stop by the house unannounced and see Stiles for himself. 

“Shall we say seven?” Derek said. 

“Seven. I’ll be there.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

Derek turned for the door but, before he could put a hand on the door handle, the sheriff called out, “Mr Hale.” 

Derek turned back and raised a questioning eyebrow, inviting the sheriff to continue. 

“Is Stiles alright?” the sheriff asked. 

There weren’t words to express how more than alright Stiles was. Derek could just smile and say simply, “Yes.” 

***

When Derek got home, he spotted Peter’s car parked in front of the house. Again. He seemed to be stopping by every day, always when Derek and Cora were out, and that made him uncomfortable. Stiles seemed OK about it, but Derek couldn’t help his fear. Peter had killed Laura. There could be no doubt that he’d be willing to kill someone else. 

Derek hurried into the house, ears pricking up to catch whatever Peter might be saying. His imagination already filled with fears of threats or sexual orders. Instead, he heard laughter. Peter was laughing. 

“After that,” Stiles was saying, “I would tell him random facts and he would just disbelieve me on principle. I spent a week vehemently trying to convince him that penguins could be homosexual and Scott was sure I was trying to prank him again.” 

“Can penguins be homosexual?” Peter asked. 

“Yes. Or maybe bi. Certainly the early Antarctic explorers wrote reports about their ‘depraved behaviour’.” 

“How do you know these things?” 

“Mostly Wikipedia.” 

“And you are trusting that as an accurate source?” 

Derek crept through the hall towards the den, where this conversation was taking place. It was quite likely that Peter had heard his approach, but Stiles should be unaware, and yet he sounded perfectly relaxed. 

“Actually,” Stiles said, “studies have shown that for most of the content, Wikipedia is at least as accurate as a standard encyclopaedia, because of the crowd-sourced nature. Mistakes tend to be uncovered quickly and corrected.” 

“Did you read about that study on Wikipedia?” Peter asked. 

“Actually no. The only exception was topics where there’s a lot of public disagreement. Then you get edit wars. Someone would go into a page on a hurricane or something and talk about global warming as a contributing factor, and someone else will come in and delete the whole section saying that global warming is a myth. Then someone with a bit more scientific knowledge will come in and put it back again. But for the most part, pages are accurate and well-maintained.” 

“I shall still stick to books as a more reliable source,” Peter said. 

Stiles gave a derisive snort and said, “Yeah right.” 

“Excuse me?” Peter said, tone far too polite. Derek braced himself for a fight, ready to run in there and get between them. 

But Stiles just kept talking. 

“Authors of books are as biased as everyone else,” Stiles said. “Just look at my history books for school. Reading that, you’d think the world didn’t exist before Christopher Columbus and the book also fails to mention anything about killing and mutilating the natives and giving them blankets infected with disease to deliberately reduce the population.” 

Derek moved into the doorway, taking in the scene. Peter sat on the end of the couch, Stiles in an armchair. There was a game board covered in black and white counters sitting on the coffee table, but neither of them seemed to be paying any attention. They were just talking animatedly, Stiles moving his arms wildly as he spoke. Stiles was facing away from the door, so he hadn’t noticed Derek yet, but he seemed relaxed and comfortable. 

Peter was leaning towards Stiles a little, an unfamiliar expression on his face. A soft smile graced his lips in an expression that seemed genuine. His eyes flicked towards Derek for a fraction of a second, but then his attention was back on Stiles. 

“You can’t claim,” Peter said, “that published reference books are as full of misleading information as the internet.” 

“Of course I can,” Stiles said. “Take me to a bookshop and I will find you books on homeopathy, advice books based on dubious psychological theories that have been long-since debunked, probably a book trying to disprove evolution by means of logical fallacies. Hell, I could go to a self-publishing site and upload a manuscript claiming that werewolves turn into poodles on the full moon and have it printed in a book by the end of the week. Just because something is printed between the covers of a book, it doesn’t mean it’s true.” 

Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anyone argue with Peter except one of the pack. Even within the pack, people generally didn’t contradict Peter as bluntly as Stiles was doing. Derek couldn’t help worrying that Peter was only smiling because he was going to brutally beat Stiles for his impertinence. 

“If you are so suspicious of every information source,” Peter said, “how can you trust anything?” 

“You look at who’s writing it and whether they have a vested interest. Like that guy with the autism and vaccines thing, who wrote a paper saying that a particular vaccine was dangerous because he was about to bring out a vaccine of his own that would compete with it. You look for consensus. Are a thousand people agreeing that this thing is true or is it one whack job?” 

“But by that point, you could discount a lot of visionaries who challenge the standard thinking of their time.” 

“In which case, you look at the evidence. Are they saying something because they want it to be true or have they done actual studies and tests that support their point of view?” 

Peter leaned his elbow on the arm of the couch to lean closer to Stiles, linking his fingers in front of him. 

“Tell me, Stiles. Do you plan on going into scientific research?” he asked. 

“God, no!” 

Peter blinked, surprised. 

“But surely this thirst to understand the truth of things would be make such work appropriate.” 

“I’m going to be a detective,” Stiles said. There was the briefest pause, then he said, somewhat stiffer than he’d been a moment before, “Assuming I don’t get killed before this month is over.” 

“I don’t think my nephew plans on killing you,” Peter said. He looked up over Stiles’ shoulder, saying, “Do you, Derek?” 

Stiles spun round in his chair, jumping when he saw Derek. 

“Jeez! You’ll give me a heart attack, looming like that.” 

“What are you doing here, Peter?” Derek asked. 

“Debating everything from the principles of philosophy to the mating habits of penguins. Stiles is an interesting conversationalist. He has also suggested I reinstate family board game night.” 

Derek turned his glare on Stiles, who caught the look and mouthed, “Sorry.” 

Derek resumed glaring at Peter. 

“If you want me to play chess with you, I will do,” Derek said. 

“I was thinking more of a group game. Something we can all play. We certainly wouldn’t want Stiles to feel left out, would we?” 

“Feel free to leave Stiles out of anything you do,” Derek said. His tone was hard, bordering on insulting, but Peter acted like he didn’t care. 

“If you want to keep him to yourself, perhaps I should leave you to it. I’ll see you soon Derek. Stiles.” 

“Bye,” Stiles said. 

Peter glanced at the board on the coffee table and said, “I’ll leave that here for next time.” 

He gave Derek a pleasant smile and walked out. Derek glared at him until the door had firmly shut behind him. Only then did he turn back to Stiles, who was standing up from the armchair now. There wasn’t a mark on him, no scent of fear or anything to suggest that something bad had happened while Derek was away. That wasn’t enough to let Derek relax. 

“You need to be careful around Peter,” Derek said. 

“He hasn’t been threatening at all.” 

“He’s a killer.” 

“Isaac mentioned something about your sister,” Stiles said slowly, as if unsure whether to utter the words. 

“Laura,” Derek said. “Peter killed her.” 

Peter claimed that he hadn’t been in control when he’d killed her and it did happen from time to time that a werewolf lost themselves to their instincts, particularly when they were hurt. Peter had been hurt for a long time. Peter talked about what happened with Laura like it was some terrible accident, but all Derek could think was that Peter had gained everything he’d wanted from that one act. A highly convenient accident for him. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. Derek had heard those words too often for them to mean anything anymore. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Derek said. 

“Want company?” 

But Derek wasn’t in the mood. He’d been cheerful on the drive home, looking forward to surprising Stiles, but Peter had spoiled his happiness just by existing. 

Derek showered off and got changed into clean clothes. By the time he made it downstairs, Stiles was heating up the leftover Chinese that Cora had ordered the night before. There was no sign yet of Cora. 

“Are you OK?” Stiles asked. 

“I’m worried about you,” Derek admitted. “We still don’t know why Peter picked you and you were arguing with him, contradicting him.” 

“I think he enjoyed it.” 

“Or he was trying to get you to lower your guard.” 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t trust Peter.” 

Stiles stared at him for a minute. Then he smiled and walked across to Derek. He reached out his hands and took Derek’s in his. 

“OK,” Stiles said. “I’ll be careful.” 

“Good.” 

“You can be surprisingly sweet sometimes,” Stiles said. 

“I’m not sweet,” Derek insisted. 

“You’re ridiculously sweet,” Stiles said. He leaned in for a kiss. 

Then the microwave beeped and made them both jump. 

Stiles broke away from Derek, laughing a little as he retrieved the warmed food. Derek felt like he’d just been cock blocked by his own appliance. 

“Should we wait for Cora?” Stiles asked. 

“She’ll be here soon enough.” 

So Stiles served out the food. Sure enough, Cora arrived just as they were starting to eat. She smelled of coffee and frustration. 

“You alright?” Derek asked. 

“Got roped into helping with the close because Ellen didn’t show up for her shift, which also meant we were run ragged all afternoon. I honestly don’t know why that girl still has a job.” 

Cora dove into the food, asking Derek about his day. Derek gave a mention to the project wrap up. He didn’t mention the hinted pay rise. There was no point planning for that until it actually happened. 

“We’re going to have company for dinner tomorrow night,” Derek said. 

“Oh,” said Cora. “Who?” 

“Just a couple of people.” 

Cora narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. She shared a look with Stiles, who just looked amused. 

“He should get a neon sign,” Stiles said, “saying, ‘I’m trying to be sneaky’.” 

Cora gave a little laugh. Derek glared at both of them. 

“Can you make dinner for more people?” he asked Stiles. 

“Sure, but I might need some stuff from the store if you want something nice. We’re about out of fresh vegetables.” 

“I can take you tomorrow,” Cora said. 

“Don’t you have work?” 

“Nah, I don’t work Fridays. Not unless someone’s ill or on vacation. And if they try to call me in to cover Ellen again, I’ll tell them to take a flying leap.” 

“Oh. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have made you a lunch for tomorrow.” 

Stiles looked disappointed. Derek couldn’t help a glance towards the fridge, wondering what Stiles had created now. He was tempted to sneak a look. 

“I can still eat it,” Cora said. “I’ll just eat it here.” 

Stiles seemed mollified, then he turned his attention back to the upcoming dinner, asking Derek whether the guests would have allergies or anything, or if they were vegetarian. 

“Not as far as I know,” was all Derek could say. 

“You’re useless,” Stiles told him. “You expect me to cook a meal without knowing anything about the people who are coming to eat it.” 

“We could just order something if you…” 

“I didn’t say that. I just wanted to point out that I am being ridiculously helpful.” 

“Duly noted.” 

“Should I go all out?” 

“No. Nothing formal or fancy. Just an ordinary dinner.” 

“Right. So you haven’t invited the Pope then.” 

Stiles was presumably trying to work out who Derek had invited. Derek hoped it would still be a surprise. He wanted to see the look on Stiles’ face when he saw his dad. Maybe Derek needed to distract him in order to keep him from guessing. 

Under the table, he kicked his shoes off. He reached out with a foot, finding Stiles’ leg and running his foot up it. Stiles gave him a look and a grin. 

“Are you trying to distract me?” Stiles said. 

Cora gave them a confused look and then groaned when she worked it out. 

“You’re playing footsie, aren’t you?” she said. 

Stiles giggled. He actually giggled. Cora groaned again. 

“You two are going to be intolerable,” she said. 

Derek just grinned across the table at Stiles.


	9. Day Nine

Stiles wasn’t sure whether falling asleep after sex was the best thing ever or morning sex was the best thing ever. It had to be one of those two. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit down for long today, but it was a small price to pay. He danced around the kitchen as he prepared a quick breakfast while Derek showered hurriedly because they were running a little late. 

Derek hurried downstairs and Stiles presented him with his lunchbox and a piece of toast to eat in the car. Derek took them in exchange for a quick kiss and then was gone, rushing out the door to get to work. Stiles wondered if morning sex counted as a valid excuse for being late. It really should. It should be a valid excuse for everything. 

Stiles made some more toast and ate it standing up, then he headed upstairs and showered himself. He hadn’t joined Derek in the shower on the grounds that it would make him even more late. Now he washed away the evidence of their morning activities, a grin still splitting his face. 

He returned to the kitchen and started making a shopping list, drumming his pen against the kitchen counter as he worked. Cora walked in, sweat staining her shirt from her morning run. She rolled her eyes at Stiles as she poured herself some juice. 

“You look like the cat that got the whole dairy,” she said. 

“I got something creamy,” Stiles said. 

“Ew! Stop! That’s my brother you’re talking about. I don’t want to know.” 

Stiles couldn’t help laughing. He wasn’t used to this. He was used to being the one ignored, the one going stag to school events, the one nobody even noticed existed. Now, he was having daily sex with a super-hot werewolf with astonishing stamina. He’d never thought he would be in a position to freak someone out by discussing his sex life, because until now, his sex life had consisted of him, his hand, and an internet connection. 

“I’m going to hit the shower and then are you ready to go to the store?” Cora asked. 

“Sure.” 

So a few minutes later, Stiles was getting into the passenger seat of a car that was nowhere near as flashy as Derek’s Camaro. It was a battered old number that looked like it had seen as much life as his jeep. It certainly didn’t fit the stereotype of wealthy and powerful werewolves. 

“So,” Cora said as she drove, “what’s with you and Peter?” 

“We’ve been playing a lot of board games.” 

“Board games?” There was astonishment in her tone. 

“I think he might be lonely,” Stiles said. 

She turned to look at him for long enough that Stiles worried she might drive them off the road. She certainly didn’t look like she thought that a plausible explanation. 

“He had some reason for picking you,” Cora said. “Until we know what that is, I’d be very suspicious of everything Peter does. Even if it’s just playing board games.” 

Derek and Cora both seemed determined to ascribe complex motives to Peter’s actions, even when the reality could be something very simple. They were convinced there was some grand conspiracy in what could just be Peter wanted someone to talk to and play his favourite games with. Peter hadn’t seemed at all dangerous when they’d been playing go. 

But Stiles couldn’t dismiss their fears either. They both knew Peter a lot better than he did. Just because Peter had seemed friendly so far didn’t mean it would continue. 

Stiles had promised his dad he would be careful and come home alive. He had nearly three weeks left of this arrangement. If he was going to keep his promise to his dad, he needed to keep up his guard around Peter. 

He wasn’t worried about Derek hurting him though. He wasn’t sure at exactly what point his last trace of concern on that front had evaporated. Probably about the time of the dick lunch box. He was confident that if Peter did try to hurt him, Derek would be on his side. 

When they reached the store, Stiles got out his shopping list and started giving Cora instructions. He wasn’t just buying food for dinner tonight, but for the rest of the week, including items to help make the lunchboxes more interesting. This was going to be a full scale shop. Stiles loaded up the cart with vegetables while Cora hurried round the shop to pick up other items. 

He’d decided to do a roast for dinner, with all the trimmings. If he made enough extras then there would be plenty of food even if the mysterious guests didn’t like particular items. He wondered who Derek might have invited. Stiles had a few ideas but he was extremely curious, mainly because Derek had seemed determined to distract him every time he brought the subject up. Stiles might have brought the subject up deliberately because he liked Derek’s method of distracting him. 

“If you’re going to have that look on your face,” Cora said, coming up to him with a bottle of milk, “you really shouldn’t be standing next to the cucumbers.” 

Stiles looked down at the vegetables he happened to be standing beside and probably went red from the implications. He quickly pushed the cart further along. Unfortunately, parsnips weren’t any less phallic. 

He went on with the job and paused by the apples. He added some to the cart and then wondered if he should bake a pie. He hadn’t really thought about dessert. He decided against it, but he would stop by the baking aisle to pick up a few things. 

“Are you planning on feeding all of Beacon Hills?” Cora asked, when Stiles added flour and things to the cart. 

“This stuff keeps,” he said, “and it’s much better value to buy the bigger packet.” 

“Only if it’s gonna get used. You can be pretty sure that no one will do any baking in our kitchen when you leave.” 

She put the large packet back and grabbed the smaller one. Stiles decided he was going to do a lot of baking over the next couple of weeks just to make sure the flour ran out so he could make a point. 

They loaded everything up and went to the check out with the cart looking full enough to provide provisions for an army. Stiles didn’t doubt that they could get through all of this with ease over the coming week. 

Cora paid for the food and soon they had the car loaded up and headed back to the house. 

“Does it bother you that you’re doing all this housework for us?” Cora asked. 

“I’m just hanging round the house all day otherwise,” Stiles said. “And I enjoy the cooking. I used to cook for my dad sometimes, during the holidays and at the weekends anyway. Besides, you guys are the ones paying for the food.” 

“It’s just… I’m sure Derek’s said this, but if you want to take a night off, just say. We lived of takeout and canned soup before you arrived. It’s no big deal if you decide you’re sick of waiting on us.” 

“I thought the whole point of this tradition was that I was meant to wait on you.” 

“We’re also meant to take care of you,” Cora said. “It goes both ways. The pack’s supposed to take care of your needs and that includes the need not to get sick of making packed lunches.” 

Stiles considered what she said, staring out at the houses and offices they were passing. Thoughts drifted around his mind. 

“I don’t get this tradition,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“This is one of those old traditions that lingers from the days of integration, right? So why did people agree to it? I mean, I get why werewolf packs would like the idea of someone to come and serve them in any way, but I don’t understand why the humans who signed the integration treaties would agree to a practice that sent their kids off to be, well, please don’t take offense at this because I’m not including you and your brother in this, raped and used.” 

“I don’t know,” Cora said. 

“You don’t know? It’s a werewolf tradition and you don’t know?” 

“Maybe the people who signed the treaties were scared. They were trying to stop a civil war between the humans and the werewolves. They might have agreed to this because they were afraid of what might happen if they didn’t.” 

“Maybe,” Stiles said. It was a better explanation than any he could think of.   
They reached the house and unpacked the groceries. Cora had to take her lunchbox out of the fridge to make room. Once she’d done that, she apparently decided it was close enough to lunch time to open it up. 

“Aw!” she exclaimed. “Is that a wolf?” 

Stiles nodded. He’d made the shape of a wolf head with rice and then used seaweed shapes to give it a cartoonish expression. Cora’s wolf looked up at her with a large seaweed grin. 

“I made Derek a grumpy wolf,” Stiles said. 

Cora laughed at that. 

“That’s awesome.” She picked her wolf out of the lunchbox. “It seems almost a shame to eat him.” 

She opened her mouth to take a bite and then hesitated. 

“Stiles, he’s looking at me,” she complained in mock trauma. 

Stiles reached out and peeled one of the seaweed eyes off the wolf’s face. He ate it. Cora laughed again. 

“Now he’s winking at me lewdly,” she said. “Take that you perverted rice wolf.” 

She took a bite, devouring its ear and a large chunk of its face as she did so. Stiles laughed. He was definitely counting this as a success. He wondered what Derek thought of his grumpy wolf. 

***

Stiles started with baking. He could get this done now and have it out of the way when it came to do the main part of the meal. He was making ginger cookies as well as brownies, on the principle that choice was a good idea when he didn’t know the tastes of the people who would be coming. Plus, ginger cookies were his dad’s favourite and that was one of his theories for why Derek was being so mysterious. 

“Are you planning on spending all afternoon cooking?” Cora asked. 

“Pretty much. A roast is simple enough, but it needs preparing early and occasionally checking.” 

He’d gone for a chicken but picked quite a large bird, which would take time to cook properly. He’d wondered about beef, but that theory was nagging at the back of his mind, whispering that he shouldn’t give his dad red meat. He tried not to think about it too much. He didn’t want to get too excited in case it turned out the mysterious visitor was someone else. Besides, Derek had said two visitors. Stiles reminded himself a dozen times a minute not to get his hopes up. 

“Do you need any help?” Cora asked. 

“No, I’m good, but you’re welcome to keep me company.” 

Stiles was currently preparing the cookie mixture. The recipe was a ridiculously simple one. It had actually come with their food processor and basically boiled down to ‘stick ingredients in food processor, mix, stick in oven’. 

“I can help lick the bowl,” Cora said hopefully, as Stiles scooped the mixture out onto a baking tray. 

“I wasn’t aware I was dealing with a toddler,” Stiles said. 

“My inner child is speaking to me.” 

Stiles spooned out the last of the mixture and handed her the bowl. He licked the spoon clean himself though. He put the tray into the oven and set to work on the brownies. 

“We definitely need to keep you,” Cora said, running her finger around the bowl and licking the gooey mess off. 

“Three weeks you’ve got left of me.” 

“Nope. I’m kidnapping you when the time’s up and chaining you to the oven to make me delicious goodies forever more.” 

“You’ll have to fight my dad and Scott for me. Scott’s declared my brownie recipe a national treasure.” 

“Well, if kidnapping won’t work, are you open to blackmail?” 

“You’ve got nothing on me.” 

“I’ll trade you my brother.” 

“What?” Stiles laughed. 

“You bake me yummy treats and I’ll let you keep Derek as your personal sex toy.” 

“That could work,” Stiles said. 

“Maybe this is your answer to the question of this tradition. Maybe someone made such good brownies that the people signing the treaty would agree to anything.” 

Stiles quite liked that theory. 

He got on with making his own, excellent brownies. He got the cookies out of the oven, adjusted the temperature and then put the brownies in instead. He put the cookies on a rack to cool and then whacked Cora’s hand out of the way with the spatula. 

“I’m just testing to make sure they’ve come out alright,” she said. 

“And I’m really the queen of Spain,” Stiles said. 

He whacked her hand away, trying to block the rack with his body, but she feinted in again, dodged round him, and then grabbed one of the cookies with a triumphant grin. Stiles felt somewhat vindicated when, a moment later, she started rapidly alternating which fingers were holding the cookie and going, “Ow. Ow. Hot.” 

“Really?” Stiles feigned astonishment. “I didn’t know ovens made things hot.” 

She whacked him lightly on the arm with the back of her hand and then shoved the cookie in her mouth despite the heat. Stiles contented himself with eating the crumbs that had broken off and glued themselves to the tray. 

While the brownies baked, he got the vegetables out of the fridge and started chopping. Cora gave him a puzzled look. 

“Dinner’s not for hours,” she pointed out. 

“Yeah, but if I prepare everything now, then all I need to do is stick things in the oven at the right times later.” 

“Are you sure I can’t help?” 

So Stiles set her to work wrapping bacon around sausages while he chopped veggies and threw them into a pan. He made a point to do lots of vegetables, telling himself that it was to give the mysterious visitors plenty of choice. Having lots of vegetables available in case a certain person showed up was just a bonus. 

Cora finished up the sausages, so Stiles handed her the knife to keep chopping while he retrieved the brownies from the oven. He was cutting them from the tin when Peter walked in. 

“This seems cosy,” he said. 

“Hello, Peter,” Cora said, voice cold. 

“Cora. Has the slave got you working?” 

“I offered to help.” 

She said it almost like a challenge. Peter just smiled and gave her a pleasant nod. 

Stiles noticed then that Peter had something in his hand. A book. An old hardback by the look of it. Peter caught Stiles’ look and raised the book up between them, not quite an invitation for Stiles to take it, but moving in that direction. 

“A gift,” Peter said. “I’m not sure you will trust it, given that the words are printed on pages and not displayed on a screen, but it’s what I have.” 

“I didn’t say that I don’t trust books,” Stiles said, going to the sink to wash his hands. “I just said that you can’t automatically trust them either. I don’t automatically trust anything I’m told.” 

Peter gave a little smile at that. Stiles dried his hands on a dishtowel. Only then did Peter hold the book out to him properly. Stiles took it and flipped open the cover to look at the title page. It was a book of strategy about go. 

“Are you implying I need to up my game?” Stiles said. 

“I thought you were the one expressing a desire to beat me. Perhaps this will help.” 

It might do at that. Stiles couldn’t quite equate the man teaching him go and giving him books with the monstrous killer Derek seemed to believe Peter to be. Still, caution and politeness were the orders of the day. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said. “I don’t want it to get any food on it, so I’ll take it up to Derek’s room.” 

Peter nodded and Stiles stepped past him, out into the hall and then up the stairs. When he got to the bedroom, he put the book with the box of stuff Derek had given him. He paused to try and figure out what to do next, but came up empty, so he headed back down the stairs again. He resumed his business with the brownies. Peter had made himself a cup of coffee while Stiles had been gone. 

“It seems you are too preoccupied for a game today,” Peter commented. 

“I’ve got quite a lot to do,” Stiles said. “I promised Derek a nice dinner.” 

“There’s a lot of food here for just Derek. It would be a shame for it to go to waste. Perhaps I should join you.” 

“Derek’s invited someone to join us,” Cora said. 

“I’m sure my invitation must have got lost in the post then.” 

Stiles didn’t dare tell Peter he wasn’t invited and it seemed that Cora didn’t dare either. Stiles looked down at the brownies he was excavating to avoid looking Peter in the eye. Once he had them all out though, he had to turn back to face the rest of the kitchen, though he evaded eye contact further by retrieving the ingredients for sausage meat stuffing. 

“You truly are pulling out all the stops,” Peter said. 

“If I’m going to do something, I might as well do it properly,” Stiles said, trying to imply that this was no big deal, that it didn’t matter at all that Peter hadn’t been invited. 

“A fine attitude.” 

“Finished,” Cora put in, dropping the last of the vegetables into the pot. 

“They need to be parboiled,” Stiles said. 

“What boiled?” 

“Boiled, but not fully. I’m going to roast them later, but they need to be mostly cooked before I put them in the oven. Not right now though. Just put water over them so they don’t go brown and I’ll cook them later.” 

Peter was smiling again. Stiles wondered if he was making a huge mistake. Maybe he should be pretending to be subservient. It was too late now though. He got on with chopping up the onions for the stuffing. 

“What can I do to assist?” Peter asked. Stiles froze for a moment, and shot a panicked look towards Cora. She looked as wide-eyed and worried as he felt. 

“That’s really not necessary,” Stiles said. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘too many cooks spoil the broth’?” 

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to spoil anything.” 

Stiles wondered if his attempt at a polite refusal had been interpreted as insulting. He really sucked at this. He thought of all the times his comments had earned him a detention from Harris and he wondered how much worse things could be if Peter decided Stiles had been insolent. 

But Peter just drained his coffee and put the mug into the dishwasher. 

“I would hate to interfere when you are performing your duties so admirably,” he said. “So I shall bid you farewell. I’ll see you soon, Stiles. Cora.” 

“Goodbye,” Stiles said. 

He vigorously chopped onions, feeling his eyes water from them. Across the kitchen, Cora remained tense for several moments and then visibly relaxed. Stiles didn’t say anything to her until she spoke, unsure of how long it would take Peter to get out of earshot. 

“That could have gone better,” she said. 

“It also could have gone a lot worse.” 

“Why is he giving you presents though?” 

“Like I said, I think he wants someone to play board games with and I’m still trying to wrap my head around go. Maybe he wants a more challenging game.” 

Cora didn’t look like she thought much of that idea. 

***

The house smelt gloriously of roasting chicken when Derek got home, layered with other food smells and the unmistakable background aroma of Stiles and sex. Derek went to the kitchen and looked in, expecting to see Stiles hard at work, but it was Cora who stood at the stove stirring a pot of gravy. 

“He’s getting changed,” Cora explained. 

So Derek hurried upstairs to his room and found Stiles freshly scrubbed and mostly naked. He took a moment to admire the view, but Stiles gave him an expression of fake firmness. 

“No,” Stiles said. “Don’t even think about it. If we do what you’re thinking about, the roast will get burned and I didn’t spend all this time cooking to see dinner get ruined.” 

Derek wanted to suggest that there were some quick things they could try. But he’d promised not to pressure Stiles into sexual acts. That promise didn’t disappear just because Stiles had agreed to have sex with him on other occasions. So Derek just gave Stiles a quick kiss on the lips and said, “OK.” 

Besides, he didn’t want to be in the middle of giving Stiles a blowjob when the sheriff got here. 

Still, it was gratifying to see that Stiles looked a little bit disappointed that Derek didn’t push the issue. 

Derek took a shower, even though today’s work had been considerably cleaner than usual. When he got back to the bedroom, Stiles was gone, so Derek pulled out some smart clothes. He hesitated a minute, staring at his drawers. He hadn’t suggested a dress code. He didn’t want to overdo it, but he also didn’t want to be dressed casually if the sheriff turned up in a suit. Derek’s thoughts ran in circles for a few minutes, second-guessing what would be appropriate. In the end, he told himself to get a grip and dressed in smart pants and a shirt that included actual buttons. That would be smart enough. 

When he got down to the kitchen, he saw that Stiles had clearly thought along the same lines, wearing one of the nice shirts Cora had bought him but not overdoing it on smartness. Except on the table, which he was currently setting out cutlery on. 

“We own a tablecloth?” Derek asked. 

“Cora found it in the bottom of your linen closet,” Stiles said. 

Which explained why the cloth was a little crumpled, but still it was an unexpected layer of smartness over the meal. 

Cora had disappeared but Derek could hear movement upstairs so presumably she was getting changed too. In the kitchen, Stiles was moving about quickly, getting things out of the oven, putting vegetables in dishes, manoeuvring the chicken onto a carving dish. He seemed to have a hundred things that needed doing. 

“Can I help?” Derek asked. 

“No, I got this,” Stiles said. 

He carried the chicken over to the table. It was covered in foil to keep it warm but Derek could still smell it underneath. The scent was almost enough to make him drool. Or maybe it wasn’t the scent. Maybe it was the sight of Stiles, so casual and confident, moving around deliberately and without any flailing. Right here, right now, Stiles knew exactly what needed to be done and just got on with it, without any of the nerves or hesitation that had been so common during his first days here. Stiles seemed to have relaxed into this place, like he belonged here. Belonged with the pack. 

“You’ve got a goofy grin on your face,” Stiles said. 

“You look good like this,” Derek said. 

“You thinking of keeping me barefoot and pregnant in your kitchen?” 

“Sex education really has gone downhill in schools if you think that’s a possibility,” Derek said, keeping the joke because he didn’t want to think of the true implications. He wanted to keep Stiles. He knew that there were less than three weeks now until this was over but he didn’t want that to be true. He wanted Stiles to stay. It was ridiculous to feel that way about someone he’d known for about a week, someone who had never wanted to be here in the first place, but still he wanted it. 

He didn't know where these thoughts were coming from. His longest relationship in the past six years had been about twelve hours, and that was only because they’d fallen asleep after sex. He’d kept things simple. Casual sex with near strangers was something he knew how to handle. When he went into it knowing that they were just using him for his body, it meant he could be sure they weren’t using him for other things. 

But Stiles wasn’t using him. Maybe it was just the difference between the experiences making him feel this way. It wasn’t like there was anything real between them. This would be over when the month ended and Stiles went home. Derek had to remember that. He had to stop himself thinking of things that weren’t going to happen. 

He heard a car engine approaching and that was a good excuse to cut shot a train of thought that couldn’t go anywhere. He left the kitchen and went to answer the front door even before the car had parked. It was a police cruiser, with the sheriff in the driver’s seat and a dark-haired teenager riding shotgun. They both got out, walking cautiously towards Derek, the teenager staring up at the house, trying to take in the sight. The sheriff didn’t do that; Derek suspected he’d already seen the house. 

“Thank you for coming,” Derek said, offering his hand to the sheriff. The sheriff just looked at it. 

Then Stiles barrelled out of the house, past Derek, and flung his arms around his dad. The sheriff hugged him back, holding him tight. Derek watched the way Stiles relaxed into those arms. 

“Hey, dad,” Stiles said, not letting go. 

“Hey, kiddo.” 

When the sheriff let go, Stiles moved to the teen, giving a much shorter hug, but still greeting him with physical affection. He was smiling broadly, but there was something missing from his face. 

“You’re not surprised,” Derek said. 

Stiles gave him a look. 

“Derek, you’re as subtle as a sledgehammer to the skull,” Stiles said. “Mysterious guests you weren’t going to tell me the identities of? Who else was it going to be?” 

Derek was a little disappointed. He’d wanted to surprise Stiles, to give him something nice, and Stiles had figured it out all along. Stiles must have caught something of that disappointment in his face, because he stepped up to Derek, putting a hand on his arm in a casually intimate gesture. He pecked a kiss onto Derek’s cheek. 

“But thanks,” Stiles said, eyes sparkling as he smiled. 

Derek shook himself to pull back his thoughts. 

“Come in. Let’s eat,” Derek said. 

Stiles bounded up the porch steps. He was excited. Derek wasn’t sure if it was just the prospect of spending time with his dad or because he wanted to show off the dinner he’d prepared. When Derek got there a moment later, Stiles was taking the foil off the roast and preparing to carve. 

Cora was in the kitchen now, and so Derek smiled at the guests saying, “I believe you’ve both met my sister Cora.” 

There were polite greetings all round and forced smiles on the part of the visitors. The whole scene felt tense and awkward. It was like those first few exchanges with Stiles, when he’d been so nervous and jumpy about everything. 

“Did you cook all this?” the sheriff asked Stiles, who was portioning out slices of the roast chicken. 

“Yep,” Stiles said. “I don’t know how these guys survived before I came here.” 

“Takeout,” Cora answered. “Lots and lots of takeout.” 

Once they each had a plate of meat in front of them, Stiles carried the bird over to the counter, covering it up with foil again. He encouraged them to dig into the sides, which included boiled vegetables, roast vegetables, sausages wrapped in bacon, and a load of sausage meat stuffing. 

“I’m watching you,” Stiles commented to the sheriff, when the man reached for the serving spoon for the stuffing. The sheriff took a tiny helping. 

“Stiles is an excellent cook,” Derek said. 

“I know,” the sheriff said. 

Derek could feel the hatred radiating off the man. Every look, every intonation spoke volumes of exactly how much the sheriff didn’t like Derek. And he wasn’t making the slightest attempt to hide it. 

“Dad,” said Stiles, “Derek wasn’t the one who picked me for this, so could you stop glaring at him like he’s public enemy number one?” 

“If you say so,” the sheriff said. He continued to glare at Derek. 

“We should have invited Peter,” Stiles said. “Then we could have had the world record for most painful dinner party ever.” 

Derek wasn’t sure what to say to that. Stiles had said it as a joke, but Derek couldn’t think of a response, either serious or light-hearted. So silence fell over the table again, broken only by the sounds of cutlery on plates. 

“Have you done anymore lacrosse practice?” Scott asked Stiles. 

“No. Mostly it’s been cooking and board games.” 

“Board games?” the sheriff asked. 

“Yeah. The alpha’s been teaching me to play go. He bought me a book on strategy today but I haven’t had a chance to look at it.” 

Derek didn't want to think about Peter being here again, with Stiles, spending time with him. It made him feel uncomfortable but he didn’t have a way of stopping it. And so, because there was nothing he could say to it, Derek focused on eating Stiles’ excellent dinner. 

Stiles looked at him. He raised his eyebrows and jerked his head a little towards his dad. The message was clear. He expected Derek to say something. Derek considered while he swallowed the mouthful of chicken. Then he turned to the sheriff. 

“Sheriff,” he said, “do you have any advice on how to get Stiles to stop talking?” 

“Hey!” Stiles protested. This clearly wasn’t what he’d had in mind. 

“I made a comment on a lunch and got a lecture on internalised misogyny.” 

“That wasn’t a lecture. That wasn’t even five minutes. I can give you a lecture.” 

Derek turned back to the sheriff and asked, “Any ideas?” 

“Give him curly fries,” Scott suggested. “He doesn’t talk as much with his mouth full of curly fries.” 

He was trying for the same joking tone that Derek was attempting. The sheriff was having none of it though. 

“Stiles is your slave,” the sheriff said. “Surely you can just order him to shut up and then beat him senseless if he doesn’t.” 

He glared across the table, challenging Derek. 

“Dad, please.” 

“Mr Stilinski,” Derek said. “I haven’t beat Stiles. I don’t intend to beat Stiles. I understand why you’re concerned, but I promise I won’t hurt him.” 

“Does that promise cover physical hurt or are you including mental and emotional hurt too?” 

“Dad!” 

Derek had never faced such hatred before, such absolute mistrust. The sheriff didn’t just dislike him, he believed Derek was a threat to his son. Derek had no trouble picturing the sheriff putting a bullet through his skull if Stiles got so much as a bruise. 

The worst part was that Derek didn’t have the faintest idea how to convince the sheriff that he truly didn’t want to hurt Stiles, that he would rather die than see Stiles in pain. Fortunately, he had Stiles to come to his defence. 

“Dad,” Stiles said, “could you stop trying to protect me for long enough to see whether or not I need to be protected? Derek has been nothing but nice to me. You are being rude.” 

“This whole arrangement is unjust,” the sheriff said. 

“Yeah, well,” Stiles said, “blame whoever signed the damn integration treaties that said this was a tradition worth protecting, which frankly still baffles me.” 

“Brownies,” Cora muttered. 

Stiles looked at her and gave a snort of laughter. Everyone else just looked confused. 

“Sorry,” said Cora. “Private joke.” 

Derek could have hugged his sister right then. That moment, that little, relaxed piece of laughter that she’d surprised out of Stiles, was the thing needed to break the tension, or at least diminish it somewhat. Derek suspected the sheriff still wanted to murder him, but they were able to move on with conversation without the need for overt threats. 

They talked about books and films, safe topics that weren’t likely to result in anyone needing to threaten anyone else. Stiles asked the sheriff about work and the neighbours, he talked to Scott about acquaintances from school. Derek mostly just ate and watched the conversation. 

When they were done with the first course, Derek helped clear the table while Stiles brought out plates of brownies and ginger cookies. Stiles raised a scolding finger to his father. 

“One,” Stiles insisted. 

The sheriff made a point of studying the plate carefully and choosing the largest of the ginger cookies. Scott grabbed three of the brownies, making comments in anticipation of their deliciousness. Derek went for one of each. Stiles grinned to see his treats being so enjoyed. 

They lingered over the dessert stage and then Stiles offered coffee. Derek could see what was happening here. Stiles was trying to draw this out as long as possible, to put off the moment when he had to say goodbye. 

When Stiles had made the coffee, Derek suggested they take it through to the den. 

“We’ll tidy up a bit in here,” he said, grabbing Cora by the arm. Stiles flashed him a grateful smile, leading his dad and Scott out of the kitchen. Derek fought down the urge to eavesdrop. He was giving Stiles a chance for privacy; he had to respect it. 

“That could have gone worse,” Cora said. 

“His dad hates me.” 

“Yeah, but that was inevitable. At least now, he’s seen that Stiles is comfortable around you. That’s a start.” 

“Not much of one.” 

Cora patted him on the arm and Derek got on with clearing away the dirty dishes and putting the leftovers away in the fridge. He didn’t leave the kitchen until he heard Stiles saying goodbye out on the porch and the car engine driving away. 

Only then did Stiles return to him and place a kiss on Derek’s lips. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said. 

“Any time. But I’ll clearly need to think of something more surprising for you.” 

“I can’t wait,” Stiles said.


	10. Day Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much plot in this chapter.

Derek was a very snuggly sleeper. Stiles once again woke up to Derek pressed against him, Derek’s chest warm against his back, his breath stirring his hair. Stiles turned a little and Derek made a faint moan of protest, not fully awake. 

“Well, one part of you’s awake,” Stiles murmured, feeling something pressing against his leg when he moved. 

“Want to put it to use?” Derek asked. Sleep was rapidly fading from his face as he opened his eyes and smiled at Stiles. 

“Could we...” Stiles started. He stopped. He wasn’t sure how to phrase this, how to ask in a way that wouldn’t cause upset if Derek didn’t like the idea. 

“What?” Derek asked. He raised his hand out from under the covers and brushed a hair away from Stiles’ forehead. 

“Could we do something a little different today?” 

“Different?” Derek raised an eyebrow. 

“I’d like to try... being on top.” Stiles pressed on hurried, “Only if you don’t mind of course, and it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to, I’m perfectly happy with things as we have been doing them and I’m fine if you want to carry on topping me, I’m just curious to try it and...” 

Derek cut him off with a kiss. It was probably the only thing that would have stopped Stiles talking right then. 

“Why would I mind?” Derek asked. 

“Because you’re a werewolf and worried about your masculinity and stuff. You got all concerned about flowers in your lunch. I don’t want you to feel... diminished.” Stiles felt like he was explaining this really badly but it was early and he hadn’t had his coffee yet. Derek just laughed. 

“Do you feel diminished?” Derek asked. 

“No.” 

Derek quirked an eyebrow that seemed to say, ‘exactly’. 

“So I can top?” Stiles asked. 

Derek leaned in and caught the lobe of Stiles’ ear between his lips, nibbling gently on it. He murmured into Stiles’ ear: “Have your way with me.” 

Stiles could hardly refused an invitation like that. 

He scrambled over Derek to get to the bedside cabinet to get to the lube. Derek started laughing again, a low grade chuckle deep in his chest. 

“You could have just asked me to reach over and grab it,” Derek said, “instead of climbing over me like I’m a jungle gym.” 

“I’ve got plans to keep climbing on you,” Stiles said. “Now roll over.” 

Derek laughed again, but did as he was told, rolling onto his front. He was wearing only a pair of briefs and Stiles quickly helped him get rid of them. When Derek twisted round on the bed and raised an eyebrow, Stiles shed the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d worn to bed. Derek nodded, satisfied. 

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” Stiles said. 

“Right now you’re not doing anything. That’s wrong.” 

Stiles gave Derek a gentle whack on the ass for that. 

Stiles tried to do what Derek had done to him. He used plenty of lube and slid a finger into Derek’s waiting hole. Tight muscle clenched around his digit and so Stiles slowly slid his finger in and out. 

“I won’t break,” Derek said. “You can use another finger.” 

Stiles slid a second one inside, working at that ring of muscle. With his other hand, he explored the skin of Derek’s back and thighs, running his fingers over Derek’s flawless skin. He traced the lines of the spiral tattoo in the middle of Derek’s back. All the while, he worked his fingers in that crack. 

He suspected that Derek had done this before but from the tightness he was encountering, he also suspected it had either been not often or not recently. 

“More,” Derek told him, so Stiles slipped a third finger inside, reaching, searching, trying to find the prostate, that point that had felt so good inside him. 

He knew it when he found it because Derek smothered a moan in the pillow. Stiles was certain that had to be the greatest sound in existence. It stirred his own erection, reminding him he had his own pleasure to deal with. 

“Are you ready?” Stiles asked. 

“Fuck me,” Derek growled. 

For once, Stiles would be obedient. 

He positioned himself astride Derek’s legs and eased himself down, lining up his aching cock with the prepared hole. He slid inside like he belonged there and began moving in slow thrusts, in and out. He leaned down over Derek’s back, pressing kisses to Derek’s neck while he thrust again and again. 

Derek moaned into the pillow again and Stiles guessed he’d found the right angle. He sped up, pounding into Derek, feeling his end approach inside like a burning need. Stiles tilted his head back and cried out. A moment later, Derek gave another of those delicious moans, body trembling as he came, Stiles still inside him. 

Stiles collapsed down onto Derek’s back, placing kisses on his shoulder. 

After a minute, Derek nudged him with an elbow. 

“You’re going to need to pull out,” Derek said. With a groan, Stiles rolled off him. He landed in something damp and sticky. 

“Ew!” he protested. 

“It’s your fault,” Derek said. He reached out a finger and brushed it against Stiles’ cheek. A moment too late, Stiles realised that there had been cum smeared on it. 

“Ew,” Stiles protested again. Derek licked that cum off his cheek. Then, smile on his face, he collapsed onto the pillows beside Stiles. 

“We’re going to have to do that again,” Stiles said. 

“Not right now. Even werewolves need recovery time.” 

***

Stiles was humming along, preparing breakfast while Derek showered. They needed a good breakfast. Plenty of energy needed to be replaced. He drummed his spoon against the edge of the pan waiting for the eggs to scramble, shimmying his hips. 

“Oh dear god,” came Cora’s voice behind him. Stiles spun round. There was a splattering of egg across the kitchen floor because he still had the spoon in his hand. Cora was standing in the doorway, clearly just back from her run, laughing. 

“I should film you,” she said. “Put you on YouTube. You’d be an overnight sensation.” 

“Do that and there’ll be no more brownies ever. You want breakfast?” 

“Please.” 

Stiles served out egg and toast onto three plates and he set them on the table. They dug in without waiting for Derek to descend the stairs. He joined them soon, hair still damp from the shower, a reminder of what had just been. When Derek sat down, his chair a little closer to Stiles than it needed to be, Stiles moved one of his hands under the table. He kept eating, but with that hidden hand he reached out to Derek’s thigh, stroking his leg through his jeans. 

“Oh god,” Cora said. “Do you have to do that at the table?” 

“You’re the one who kept saying I should have sex with him,” Stiles said. 

“I take it back. I’d rather you were all sexually repressed and grumpy.” 

Derek reached out an arm and draped it over Stiles' shoulder, pulling him against his side. He gave Cora a truly wicked smile and Stiles had to fight not to laugh. 

Cora dropped her fork onto her plate. 

“I’m done. Otherwise I’m going to lose my breakfast.” 

***

Stiles spent much of the morning attempting to read the book Peter had given him. It was incredibly tedious. The author kept dropping in random words of Japanese without real translation, so Stiles spent half his time trying to figure out what korigatachi and fuseki and other such terms actually meant in context. The book had sections on simple strategies, complex strategies and combined strategies. Stiles yawned his way through the early chapters on the grounds that when an alpha werewolf gave a present, it was a good idea to make use of it. 

When he couldn’t take any more, he put the book aside and went into the kitchen to strip the flesh off the chicken carcass and boil the bones for stock. He did a little bit of baking for the pack gathering, but he didn’t go quite as crazy as he’d done the previous week. He made some cheese straws and pinwheel sandwiches. He could cook something up with the leftover chicken but that would have to wait until later. 

While Stiles was rolling the last of the pinwheels, Derek snuck into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around him from behind. Stiles jumped a little at the unexpected touch and then leaned into his hold. 

“You need to learn to make some noise when you move,” Stiles said. “I’m going to put a bell on you.” 

“Want to go out for a bit?” 

“Out where?” 

“I dunno. Somewhere that isn’t here. You’ve barely left this house since you got here.” 

“Sure. Just let me finish up here.” 

Derek agreed, but didn’t let go. He kept his arms wrapped around Stiles’ waist, kissing and nuzzling at the side of Stiles’ neck. It was very distracting. Stiles wasn’t going to complain though. 

He wondered if this was normal behaviour for a werewolf, if they were all this clingy. Or maybe Derek was just secretly the touchy-feely type. Maybe it was a primitive instinct thing. In Derek’s mind, Stiles was associated with sex and so Derek could be acting on that impulse. Stiles decided it was safer not to ask. 

A few minutes later, they headed out for Derek’s Camaro and set off towards town. 

“Do you actually have a plan for where we’re going?” Stiles asked. 

Derek shrugged. 

“Hit the mall. Get a coffee. Maybe go to the bookstore.” 

“That’s close enough to a plan for me.” 

***

The Derek in the coffee shop was very different from the Derek back at the house. Back in his house, Derek had been physically affectionate, bordering on friendly, and even actually smiling sometimes. Here, he seemed stiff, restrained. He sat on the opposite side of a small table from Stiles and trying to have a conversation with him was almost painful. 

Stiles would have been embarrassed if Derek had started nuzzling at him in public, but the difference was just ridiculous. 

“Are you regretting coming here?” Stiles asked. 

“No. Why?” 

“You’ve gone all grumpy again. You’re back to glaring at the entire universe as though it personally offends you just be existing.” 

“I’m not glaring.” 

“You’re kind of glaring.” 

Derek definitely glared at Stiles then. 

“This was your grand idea,” Stiles said. “So what’s up?” 

“There are a lot of people around.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve got sociophobia?” 

Derek’s eyes narrowed, “That’s not a real word.” 

“It completely is and it’s a real and recognised phobia, the fear of people and social situations. There’s also anthropophobia which is the fear of people in general.” 

“You’re making this up.” 

“I’m being completely serious,” Stiles insisted. “There are whole lists of phobias and some of them are really bizarre. Do you know that there’s a phobia of heaven?” 

“That makes no sense.” 

“Yeah, well, no one ever said phobias were rational. It’s like all those people who get completely freaked out about harmless house spiders.” 

At least Derek was talking now, so Stiles tried to remember some of the other weird phobias from the lists he’d read. Derek just shook his head and insisted that Stiles had to be making some of these up. 

“I’m telling the truth. Scouts honour.” 

“Were you ever a scout?” Derek asked. 

“Absolutely. Up until the unfortunate water fight incident, at which point Scott and I were politely asked to leave and never come back. And by politely, I mean one of the deputies took us home in the back of a police car.” 

“Do I want to ask?” 

“Probably not, but in our defence, that hut was really old and probably should have been rebuilt anyway.” 

Derek frowned, “How can you cause a hut to need rebuilding with a water fight?” 

“There was an awful lot of water.” 

Derek’s face was still serious, but Stiles thought he could see a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. Stiles took the time to study Derek, seeing the stiff posture, as though he expected to be attacked at any moment. His face was wary, inexpressive. He kept everything shut away and private. Stiles wondered if the way he acted back at the house was something reserved for family and friends. If so, he felt privileged to have glimpsed it. 

Derek downed the last of his coffee. 

“Let’s go to the bookshop,” he said. Stiles finished his coffee and followed. 

He wasn’t sure if he was just supposed to be browsing or if Derek would actually be buying him books. He wandered into the familiar shop and headed for the popular science section, scanning titles. Derek headed off in another direction, presumably to look at more of those murder mystery books that filled his shelves. 

Stiles went through his usual routines of finding interesting titles, reading the back, reading the first page and then reading page ninety-seven to see if the book continued to be interesting. He was flicking through one that explored weird and random hypothetical scenarios, often explaining them with little stick figure cartoons, when someone came up behind him. 

“Well look who it is,” a voice said. Stiles turned and saw Jackson standing beside him. 

“Fancy seeing you in a bookshop,” Stiles said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure someone will help you find the ones with pictures.” 

“So did the werewolves get bored of you already? Or do they have to wait until after dark to fuck you because they don’t want to see your ugly face?” 

Stiles was saved from having to come up with a snappy retort for that one, because suddenly Derek was there, looming behind Jackson, standing right in his personal space. 

“Jackson, allow me to introduce Derek Hale, heir of the Hale pack. Derek, meet Jackass, sorry, Jackson Whitmore.” 

Derek had his best glower on his face. He looked Jackson up and down as though working out where he was going to bury the body. Jackson swallowed nervously and took a little step back. 

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Jackson said, “I just wasn’t sure if Stilinski was allowed to be out here when he was meant to be serving you. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t.” 

Derek said nothing. He just glared. 

“Just so you know,” Jackson continued, “if you get sick of Stilinski, and frankly, no one would blame you, there are others who would be quite happy to serve you properly.” 

Derek looked Jackson up and down. 

“You think you’d do a better job than Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles would have been offended that Derek was talking about replacing him even if it weren’t for the fact that being replaced would involve his gruesome death. 

“I know I’d do a better job,” Jackson said. 

“Why?” 

“Stamina. You need someone who can keep up with you, not this scrawny runt.” 

“You think you’re better than Stiles?” 

“Absolutely,” Jackson said. “I mean, just look at him. Besides, you should have someone around who could have potential for the pack, you know, long term.” 

Jackson gave a smile that was probably supposed to be winning. Derek was still staring at him. Stiles wanted to say something, wanted to point out that Jackson was a complete tool, but he was supposed to be a slave here. 

“You want to be a werewolf?” Derek asked. 

“Of course,” Jackson said. 

“The problem with that,” Derek said, “is that making you a werewolf would make you a part of the pack. Why would I want to spend the rest of my life in your presence when I feel physical sick just being near you for five minutes?” 

Stiles couldn’t help a grin at the look that came over Jackson’s face. 

“Ooo, burn!” Stiles said. 

“Watch it, asswipe,” Jackson said. 

“Come on, Stiles,” said Derek. “Have you found anything you want to buy?” 

“Um, yeah, this one.” 

Stiles held out the book and Derek took it, heading for the checkout. Stiles hurried after him because he had a suspicion he might get lynched if he stayed near Jackson. 

“That was awesome,” Stiles said. “I wish I could get a picture of the look on his face.” 

Derek said nothing, he just took his place in the queue. 

“You know,” Stiles said quietly, “for a minute there, it looked like you were thinking about his offer.” 

“You said he was a jackass. Why would I want to spend a month with a jackass?” 

“You might prefer it to a hyperactive guy who talks too much and doesn’t know what he’s doing in bed.” 

“I’ve no complaints about you in bed,” Derek said. Stiles noticed he didn’t say anything about the rest of it, but he decided that a small victory was good enough. 

“Really?” Stiles asked. 

“If you want me to prove it to you, we’ll have to wait until we get home.” 

***

For the first time in a long while, at least six years, Derek wanted to thank his uncle for something. If that jerk was the quality of candidate Peter had picked from, then he’d chosen the right person. Derek had wondered why Peter hadn’t chosen a person who actually wanted to be chosen, but Jackson had wanted to be picked out of a sense of superiority and entitlement. It was possible that the others had been the same. 

Derek sat on his bed, leaning against his pillows, looking down at Stiles who dozed with his head on Derek’s lap. It was selfish, but Derek was glad that this stupid tradition had been inflicted on Stiles. He ought to wish that Stiles was safe and home and happy, but he couldn’t. He was glad that this hyperactive kid, with the attention span of a gnat, a mouth that never stopped working, and an intense desire to please, was the one who’d been sent here. 

He wondered if Stiles would be willing to see him after this was all over, even if it was just for more sex. He thought they had fun together. Stiles seemed like he had fun. 

“You two better get your asses out of bed!” Cora yelled from downstairs. “The rest of the pack will be here soon.” 

Derek glanced at the clock. She was right, of course. He hadn’t intended to stay in bed, but then Stiles had fallen asleep and he couldn’t bring himself to wake him. He had too now though. 

He nudged Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Time to wake up.” 

Stiles made an incomprehensible noise and opened his eyes. 

“What time is it?” he asked. 

“Time to get up before the rest of the pack turn up.” 

Stiles groaned, but he sat up. 

“Join me in the shower?” Stiles asked. 

“Not if we want to be decent when the others get here.” 

Stiles didn’t argue. He hurried into the bathroom to get clean. Derek gathered fresh clothes while he waited and then took his turn in the shower. 

Boyd and Erica had already arrived by the time he made it downstairs. They were eating pinwheel sandwiches in the den but stopped to look at him when he walked in. They knew without a doubt what he’d been doing. Who he’d been doing. Stiles caught his eye and there was a pink flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. It was adorable. 

“Holy crap,” said Erica. “Is Derek smiling?” 

Derek turned a glare on her, but it was too late. 

“What did you do to him?” Boyd asked Stiles. 

Stiles looked at Derek and Derek could practically see the words forming behind his mouth. 

“Fucked him,” Stiles answered. 

With werewolf senses, it was impossible to hide when couples were being intimate with each other, so generally it just went unmentioned, accepted as normal. It was somehow different though to hear a human just announce the truth so brazenly. Erica and Boyd were clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Sit down,” Derek growled at Stiles. 

Stiles grinned. He sat down on the couch, then looked at the cushion beside him, invitation in his eyes. While Cora sorted out the movie, Derek sat down on the end of the couch and Stiles shifted position to be leaning against his side. Derek put his arm around Stiles, pulling him closer. He breathed in Stiles’ scent mingled with his own and their recent enjoyment, overlaid with tones of shampoo and soap. 

“Are you sniffing me?” Stiles asked. 

“Just watch the movie,” Derek said. 

Stiles laughed and shifted position to get more comfortable. 

When Isaac arrived, Cora started the movie playing and they all settled around to watch it, Stiles leaning into Derek’s body. Stiles shifted and fidgeted constantly, his side pressed to Derek’s. There was something that felt right about it, not sexual, not like their times in the bedroom. It was just... comfortable... to have him there. Derek traced his fingers up and down Stiles’ arm, smiling slightly and wondering if hell had frozen over, because he was actually grateful to Peter for putting him in this position.


	11. Day Eleven

It was mid-morning before Derek got out of bed. This wasn’t unusual for a Sunday. What was unusual was that he’d been awake for hours. He left the bedroom only when Stiles’ stomach growling became too much of a distraction. Derek left Stiles in bed and went downstairs to grab something for breakfast. 

When he returned, Stiles was sitting up in bed, the covers wrapped around him. He smiled widely at Derek, who proffered a plate of bacon and sausage and slices of toast. 

“Wake up sex and a werewolf bringing me breakfast in bed,” Stiles said. “I could get used to this.” 

Derek sat down on the bed beside him, eating to avoid mentioning that they were over a third of the way through their time together. 

“Are you OK?” Stiles asked. 

“What?” 

“You’ve gone all grumpy face again.” 

“This is my normal face.” 

“Yeah, we need to fix that.” 

“You want to fix my face?” Derek asked. 

“Just the grumpiness of it. Otherwise, it’s pretty much perfect.” 

“Perfect?” 

Stiles looked as though he wanted to burrow down into the bed covers and down until the earth itself swallowed him. 

“I think sex might be destroying my cognitive abilities,” Stiles said. 

“And yet you still managed to say ‘cognitive’.” 

“My mind works in mysterious ways.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” 

Stiles shoved a piece of sausage into Derek’s mouth. Literal sausage, this time. Derek ate around the smile. 

***

Stiles wouldn’t let Derek into the kitchen when he was making the lunchboxes. Derek left him to it and wondered if he could do something that would surprise Stiles. He’d failed with making the dinner with his dad a surprise, but he could try something else. The question was, what? 

It wouldn’t do to do something traditionally romantic, like flowers or chocolate, because this wasn’t a relationship they were in. He didn’t think a book would work either, since he’d already given Stiles a book as just something to stop him going bored. It couldn’t just be something to keep him occupied because he’d done that sort of thing before and it hadn’t been anything special. The problem was that Derek had no experience whatsoever of making gestures like this. With Paige, he’d done the clichéd things because he’d been a teenager and hadn’t known better. With Kate, it hadn’t been a factor. 

He needed help. 

He pulled out his phone and typed out a text to Cora: _If Scott shows up at the coffee shop again, I need you to get his phone number for me._

It was a few minutes later when he got a reply: _Does Stiles know ur getting other guys’ numbers?_

He could practically feel her laughing at him from the other side of town. 

_I want to do something nice for Stiles and I want his friend’s advice,_ Derek typed back. 

He didn’t hear anything for a while and he tried to focus on the book he was reading, but kept glancing back at his phone in case he’d missed it buzzing. When the phone did buzz with an incoming text, there were no words, just a phone number. Derek smiled. 

“I’m going out for a run,” Derek called through the kitchen door. 

“What? Am I not giving you enough exercise?” Stiles called back. 

“Different muscle groups.” 

He left to the sound of Stiles’ laughter. 

He jogged a little way into the woods around the house, making sure he was completely out of sight and earshot before he pulled his phone out and called the number Cora had sent him. 

“Hello?” the voice asked, cautious. 

“Is this Scott?” 

“Yes. I take it this is Derek Hale?” Scott said. 

“Yes.” 

“What do you want?” 

“I want to do something nice for Stiles.” 

There was a brief pause and then Scott said, “So why are you calling me?” 

“I want advice on what he will like.” 

“Why don’t you talk to him?” 

“Because I’m trying to surprise him. He figured out that I’d invited you and his dad to dinner in about two seconds. If I say anything, it’ll ruin the surprise.” 

There was another pause and then Scott asked, “Why should I help you seduce my friend?” 

Derek paced beneath the trees, frustrated at all the anger that was directed at him. This wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault. He didn’t want Stiles’ friends and family to think of him as a monster but he didn’t know how to stop them doing so. 

“Help Stiles,” Derek said. “I’m going to do something and either it will be something lame and clichéd that I’ve come up with myself, or you can help me and I’ll do something he’ll actually enjoy.” 

Another pause and then, “You actually like him, don’t you?” 

Derek uttered the word like he detested having to admit it, but he said, “Yes.” 

There was another long pause. This time, Scott said, “He likes superhero movies.” 

“Superheroes?” 

“All that Marvel Avengers stuff. And Star Wars. He’s really keen on Star Wars, keeps giving me a hard time because I haven’t watched it.” 

“You haven’t watched Star Wars?” Derek asked. He wasn’t hugely into sci-fi, but he didn’t think there was a person on the planet who hadn’t seen Star Wars. It was a classic. 

“Suddenly I’m starting to think this could work between you two,” Scott commented. 

Derek was thinking about what Scott had told him. Superhero movies and Star Wars gave him a place to start, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t just give him a DVD or something like that because they watched movies as a pack, though he could try to make sure that next week’s pack night included a film Stiles would want. 

“Any other advice?” Derek asked. 

“Go for something weird. He likes weird.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Let me know how it goes,” Scott said, before Derek could hang up. 

“I will.” 

Derek ended the call and jogged back towards the house. It would be clear that he hadn’t been running hard, but he could make a comment about Stiles already wearing him out today. He had the starting point for his surprise, but he still had a lot of thinking to do. 

But that would have to wait because there, parked in front of the house, was Peter’s car. Derek raced up the porch steps and into the house. The kitchen door was open when he got inside, Peter sitting at the table, flipping over little plastic rectangles. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked. 

“Setting up the game,” Peter answered. “Stiles suggested this one. The box says two to four players. Do you want to join us?” 

Derek glared at his uncle, but sat down at the table anyway. There was no way in hell he was leaving these two alone any more than was necessary. Stiles flashed him a smile and then came to join them, explaining the rules, showing them the tiles with the coloured numbers on them, and describing the house rule his family used for the jokers when they played. 

“Strictly speaking,” he said, “it’s not what’s in the rule book, but it lets you mix up the game more and keeps things interesting.” 

He talked about each player having their own set of tiles, and using them to make sets and runs. 

“So it’s kind of like number scrabble,” Derek said. 

“A little bit.” 

They started playing, collecting tiles and putting them into play in little clusters. Derek stared at the growing collection in play and tried to see ways to add his tiles to the end of runs, or into sets. The others seemed to be doing the same, though Stiles stared at the board with more concentration than such a simple game seemed to warrant. His hands were moving, fidgeting, as though fingers were pointing out things visible only to him. 

When it came to Stiles’ next time, he dived over the board, breaking apart sets and runs, moving pieces away onto other groups, rearranging his jumble of numbers into new runs and completely changing the structure of the board. When all this was done, with a triumphant, “Hah!” he placed a single tile with a red number one painted on it, to complete one of his newly formed sets. 

“All that for one tile?” Derek asked. 

“I’ve had that one since the start of the game and I’ve finally been able to get rid of it.” 

Stiles sat back in his chair for Derek to take his turn. Derek had a lone one tile of his own, which he added to Stiles’ new set. He could have done that rearrangement to let him put it down, but he’d never in a million years have seen the way to do it. Derek felt somewhat inadequate as he placed his tile down and looked to Peter to take his next go. 

That was when he caught the way Peter was looking at Stiles, a slight smile on his lips. Peter was looking at Stiles with respect. 

Stiles won the first game, which was hardly surprising since the other two were still figuring out the rules. He won the second game too, though Peter managed a couple of board rearranging moves. Derek felt somewhat outclassed, and tried to see ways he could restructure things. In the third game, Derek got hold of a joker tile which gave him a bit more freedom to break sets apart and rebuild them, but he couldn’t do it on the same scale as the others, who were managing to see patterns and connections that involved half the tiles in play. 

Derek did actually win that third game, but only because he’d made a lucky pick and got a tile which let him claim the joker and get rid of his last awkward piece. He couldn’t see his victory as anything more than a fluke. 

Peter took the fourth game. When he’d done that, he nodded to Stiles. 

“And excellent choice,” he said. “The luck element does add a balancing factor and makes play a little more unpredictable.” 

Derek suspected that there was a veiled insult to him included in that, a dig that Derek had only won through luck. 

“I should get started on dinner,” Stiles said. 

“Of course,” Peter said. He started sweeping the pieces into the box. “I’ll leave this here in case you want to play with Cora.” 

Peter put the game away in silence. He seemed to be waiting for them to say something. If he was waiting for a dinner invitation, he’d have a very long wait. Derek waited too and then, when Peter left, followed him out to his car. 

“Are you coming to say goodbye properly?” Peter asked. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Playing board games.” 

“I mean why do you keep coming here? Hanging around with Stiles? If you wanted to play games, you could find a chess club or something. Why do you keep coming to him?” 

“I would have thought that was obvious,” Peter said. “I’m seeing if he’s suitable.” 

“Suitable? For what? For me?” 

“Well, you haven’t had much luck with relationships in the past,” Peter said. Derek hoped he was talking about Paige. He had to be talking about Paige. No one, not even Peter, knew about Kate. 

“Are you trying to tell me that’s why you picked him?” Derek asked. “Were you hoping I’d fall for him?” 

“I was hoping you’d let off some steam with an attractive and hormonal young man. The fact you’ve fallen for him is a bonus.” 

This was the closest Peter had come to explaining his reasons for choosing Stiles, but Derek didn’t believe it could be that simple. Peter couldn’t have chosen someone just because he thought Derek would want to have sex with him. If that had been the case, he would have picked someone like Jackson who’d been eager to offer. 

“Not everything I do has some malicious purpose, Derek,” Peter said. “When will you stop hating me?” 

“When will my sister stop being dead?” Derek countered. 

Peter gave him a long look, then nodded sadly, got into his car, and drove away. Derek watched until he was out of sight. 

Could it really be that Peter was just trying to mend fences? All of this, spending time with Stiles, playing board games with Derek, it couldn’t just be Peter’s attempts at being nice. Could it? 

Derek returned to the kitchen to find Stiles chopping up chicken. 

“Is Peter like that when he’s here the rest of the time?” Derek asked. 

“He usually talks more when it’s just the two of us,” Stiles answered. 

“Talks about what?” 

“Anything really. Tactics and game theory are quite common, but that’s mostly because we’re playing something when he’s here.” 

“He hasn’t tried anything else?” 

“He did make a suggestion about me sucking him off once,” Stiles said, continuing quickly, “but I think that was just to test how I would react. He didn’t seem to mind at all that I said no.” 

“You said no to Peter?” 

“Specifically, I said that I was here to serve you and that I wasn’t sure you’d like it.” 

Derek definitely wouldn’t have liked it if Peter had forced Stiles to do anything. He couldn’t quite believe that Stiles had refused Peter. That wasn’t quite truly. He could easily believe that Stiles would refuse. What he couldn’t believe was that Peter had let him.


	12. Day Twelve

Stiles called his dad again after breakfast. 

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad greeted him. 

“Hey, dad,” he replied. “So… dinner was awkward, huh?” 

“At least I know they’re not starving you.” 

“Not by a long shot. I’ve basically got free range on the kitchen.” 

“So they’re making you cook for them.” 

“’Make’ is too strong a word,” Stiles said. “I offered. It gives me something to do when everyone’s at work.” 

“They don’t give you anything else to do?” 

“Oh, Derek’s given me books and a laptop and stuff, and Peter stops by just about every day for board games. And Isaac took me to practice lacrosse. I’m keeping occupied.” 

“No, I was talking about…” his dad trailed off. The hesitation to speak was enough to tell Stiles exactly what he didn’t want to say. 

“Dad,” Stiles said slowly, wishing there was a way to avoid this conversation but knowing it had to be faced, “Derek and I have done stuff, stuff you probably don’t want to think about, but it’s been mutually enjoyable... stuff... and he’s been very good about making sure I’m only doing stuff I want to do when I want to do it. No one’s _made_ me do anything. They’ve been nice.” 

“It’s still exploitation.” 

“I don’t feel exploited.” 

“Stiles,” his dad said in a tone filled with such concern that it was a step away from patronising, “this situation, with you being expected to serve them, doesn’t stop being exploitive just because they happen to ask nicely.” 

“Dad,” Stiles said, “I don’t feel exploited. Especially not by Derek. I would hope that my opinion would carry some weight.” 

“You’re sixteen years old.” 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Stiles, I’m trying to be serious here.” 

“So am I. Nobody has made me do anything that I haven’t been happy to do. Except lose at go to Peter, but that’s hardly the crime of the century.” 

“There’s still more than two weeks left.” 

“It’ll be fine, Dad. I’ll be fine.” 

***

Stiles made another attempt to read the go book, and then read a couple scenarios from the stick figure science book instead. He prepared lunches for Derek and Cora and then ate his own. He then waited in the den, unsurprised when Peter let himself in. 

Stiles fixed them coffee and Peter gave him an offering of another book, one even older than the go book. It looked like it was barely younger than the printing press, old and worn but obviously well looked after, a genuine antique. It must have been incredibly valuable. Stiles was almost afraid to breathe on it wrong unless it turned the fragile pages to dust. Stiles inspected it as they took their usual seats in the den. He ran a hand reverently over the cover. 

“This is incredible,” Stiles said. 

“It’s a book on the traditions of werewolf packs,” Peter explained, “and it dates almost back to the days of the integration. I know a collector who was able to acquire it for me.” 

“And you’re just giving it to me?” Stiles asked. “Don’t you want to keep it?” 

“I hope you will find it illuminating. It will prove a good background for when you join the pack.” 

“What?” Stiles asked. He was almost convinced he must have misheard that last part. Peter just looked at him calmly and sipped his coffee, leaning back against the couch. 

“Officially,” Peter said, “I have to wait until the next full moon before I can make you the offer, but we both know what’s going to happen.” 

“No we don’t!” Stiles said. “I didn’t.” 

Peter looked at him with surprise and asked, “What did you think was going to happen?” 

“I don’t know. Derek’s theory was that you’d picked me because you wanted him to kill someone and I was bound to screw up as a slave.” 

Peter looked almost sad as he took a slow sip of his coffee. 

“I know my nephew isn’t one of the world’s greatest strategists,” he said, “but I would hope he’d credit me with more intelligence than planning the murder of the sheriff’s son.” 

“Did you know I was the sheriff’s son when you picked me?” Stiles asked. 

“When you went to get your friend’s inhaler, I asked who you were.” 

So Peter had chosen him in full knowledge of who he was. Either his father’s identity hadn’t bothered Peter, or it had been a deciding factor. Stiles thought back over their conversations over the past few days, how Peter had mentioned using board games as a way of bonding with pack members. 

“Were you planning on asking me to join the pack when you picked me?” Stiles asked. 

“It was a possible outcome. I needed to be sure you were suitable before making the decision though.” 

Suitable. Stiles was suitable. He ought to take it as a compliment, he knew, but somehow it seemed less so when phrased like that. 

“What is it that makes me suitable?” Stiles asked. 

Peter took another sip of his coffee before answering: “Derek and Cora are very protective of you. The rest of the pack like you. You stand up for those you care for, which is crucial for a strong pack. That ability to form bonds and put another’s well-being first is what builds pack loyalty, and that nurtures strength.” 

“So the fact that I wanted to get Scott’s inhaler told you that I’d fit into a pack?” 

“You were terrified. I could smell it on you. Every werewolf in that room could smell the stench of your fear, but that didn’t stop you from asking to help your friend. Someone who will do that will fit in a pack better than someone who is after the bite for his own personal gain.” 

“I thought arguing with you and that other alpha was a bad thing,” Stiles said. “I thought it would get me labelled as rebellious and a troublemaker and make you want to torture me for daring to confront your power.” 

“What would I have to gain from torturing you?” Peter asked. “It would alienate the sheriff without providing any benefit to me.” 

“So you’re OK with torturing people but only if you’ve got something to gain from it?” 

“Or if they’ve hurt me,” Peter answered. He said it so perfectly calmly, the words slipping out between sips of coffee, that it sounded like he was talking about personal experience. Despite Peter’s statements about not hurting him, Stiles felt that knot of tension return to his stomach. 

“Have you tortured people?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s been known to happen.” 

Stiles took a swallow of coffee to try and cover his nerves, though he suspected Peter could see how he was feeling. If he couldn’t see it, he could almost certainly smell it. Peter was offering Stiles the chance to be a werewolf, to belong to the pack, to be with Derek, but it would mean putting his faith in Peter as a leader. 

“What if I decide I don’t want to join the pack?” Stiles asked. 

That surprise was back on Peter’s face, like Stiles had announced something ridiculous. 

“Why wouldn’t you?” Peter asked. “Strength, healing, a pack to support you, the powers the come with being a werewolf. Why would you throw that away?” 

“Aside from the fact there’s a chance the bite could _kill_ me,” Stiles said, “I don’t trust you.” 

A week ago, Stiles would never have dared to say that to Peter, but Peter had just spent several minutes explaining that he had no reason to hurt Stiles. If Peter went back on what he’d just said, he’d be proving himself a liar and that Stiles was right not to trust him. 

“That’s another thing about you,” Peter said, “you’re suspicious. You don’t accept things or people at face value. The lack of that quality had already cost this family dearly.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked. 

For the first time, Stiles saw Peter hesitate. He looked like he was about to say something, then he shook his head a little, clearly changing his mind. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said. “It’s dead and buried.” 

Stiles thought that was a very odd way of phrasing it. 

“You choose where to place your trust,” Peter said, “and you think carefully about it. That’s important. That would help this pack if you choose to join. As for me, the one thing you need to trust is that I care about my family’s best interests.” 

“Is that why you killed one of them?” Stiles asked. Sometimes, he had no filter, no application of common sense to the things he said. He watched Peter’s hand tighten against the coffee mug, not enough to break the mug, but just enough to hint at emotion. He set the mug down slowly. 

“What happened with Laura was an accident,” Peter said. “A momentary loss of control.” 

“You seem perfectly in control now,” Stiles said. Common sense had completely left the building. He was confronting an alpha werewolf head on, an alpha werewolf who had admitted to killing and torturing people. Stiles wanted to run, but he knew there was no way he could be faster than Peter. All he could do was sit there and wait for claws to slash his throat out or something. 

“I was burned alive,” Peter said. “I couldn’t escape from the smoke or the heat. I could hear my family screaming over the flames. I could smell my own flesh roasting. Most of my family died when the old house burned down but I was left alive, in agony, trapped in my own body. I was still burning. For years afterwards, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was feel. And all I felt was pain.” 

“That’s… that’s awful,” Stiles said, “but I don’t see what this has to do with you killing your niece. Something horrible happened to you, but you don’t just go out and do horrible things to other people.” 

“You don’t know what anger is like for a werewolf,” Peter said, “the way it influences us, drives the change, drives us to channel our more violent impulses. I was angry after the fire in a way you can never imagine, a way you should hope never to understand.” 

“So you killed Laura because you were angry?” 

“I wanted revenge. The fire was set deliberately. A human decided that as werewolves we deserved to die. Since the first moments I had control of my body again, I hunted for those who hunted us, for the people who murdered my pack and left me in agony.” 

Stiles still didn’t see what this could have to do with the fact that Peter had killed Laura. He might have thought that maybe the others had misunderstood and that someone else had killed her, but Peter had all but admitted it earlier, calling it a loss of control. He hadn’t denied that he’d killed her. 

“Why would wanting revenge lead you to killing your niece?” Stiles asked. “You’re not saying that she killed her own family?” 

“No. Of course not. Laura wouldn’t have hurt the pack.” Peter went quite for a moment. He looked away from Stiles, staring at some distant point. 

“What I tell you now,” Peter said, “I tell you as one who might be pack. I tell you so that you will understand. If you decide to use this information for your own purposes or reveal it to the pack’s enemies, I will kill you. Whatever pain it may cause Derek, I will kill you. It will be a slow death and your father will never be able to identify your remains.” 

Peter turned to look at Stiles again, meeting his eyes. Stiles swallowed nervously. He wondered if he should just tell Peter he was alright not knowing after all, but the curiosity was burning deep inside him. Stiles wanted to understand why Peter had killed his niece. Stiles nodded. 

“I found the names of the people who burned the house, including the woman who orchestrated it all. I went to Laura. I wanted to go after them as a pack, to get our revenge together. Laura… Laura was a good alpha, but she wasn’t a killer. She wouldn’t even listen to the names I’d found. She said we should focus on the future not the past. She wasn’t interested in revenge.” 

“So you got angry and killed her?” 

“I got angry, yes, but I didn’t kill her. Not then. I was still in control then.” 

Peter went quiet again, staring into the distance. Stiles waited. Peter’s face was an unreadable blankness, staring at nothing. 

“So when did you lose control?” Stiles asked, when he couldn’t take the silence anymore. 

“She was trying to calm me down, trying to stop my focus on revenge. She talked about how we needed to rebuild, how focusing on the pain would only hurt us more. She mentioned things each of us had lost, beyond the obvious. She mentioned a name, in connection to one of the pack. Just a name. Not even a full name. An ordinary, common first name, that just happened to be the same first name as the person who’d orchestrated the fire.” Peter closed his eyes and breathed out a long, slow breath that was almost a sigh. Then he opened his eyes and faced Stiles again. 

“It was just a name, but it fit. It explained how they had gained access to house. But it also meant that one of our own had worked with one of those monsters. One of the pack had let one of those monsters into our home to set the whole thing up. _That_ was what made me lose control. The anger I felt made everything I’d felt up to that point look like a childish strop. It was an incalculable rage and I lashed out, calling Laura a liar, begging her to say that she’d made it up, or that she’d got the name wrong. But she couldn’t do that. She didn’t even know why I was so angry because she hadn’t let me tell her the names I’d found. She kept trying to calm me down and I tore her apart.” 

Peter wasn’t crying, but there was a slight tremor in his voice which suggested tears were a possibility. He fell silent again and took another of those slow breaths. For once, Stiles didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything he could possibly say to this. 

“I didn’t mean to kill Laura,” Peter said. “I know Derek doesn’t believe me when I tell him that, but her death was an accident, a mistake. He loved his sister and so he hates me for killing her. All perfectly understandable, but it doesn’t change the fact that I will protect him. He is still my pack.” 

Stiles didn’t have any reason to believe a word of this. Peter could be spinning lies to get Stiles on his side, but Stiles had a hard time imagining that anyone could fake the pain Peter was showing right now. Peter wasn’t trying to claim his actions were justified or anything like that. He just wanted Stiles to understand that they had been a mistake. 

They sat in silence for a minute. Stiles couldn’t understand how Peter must be feeling, or how Derek must be feeling. But some of that deep suspicion he’d felt towards Peter was tempered now with a sense of pity. 

“I don’t want the bite,” Stiles said quietly. 

Peter looked at him, an eyebrow rising in a question. 

“You hurt someone you loved because you lost control of your werewolf side. I’ve never been known for my self-control. I do things and say things without thinking the consequences through. Right now, the only person who’s going to get hurt is myself. I wouldn’t want to hurt Scott or my dad or… or anyone, because I lost control. I don’t want to have that kind of power.” 

“Having power lets you protect those you care about too.” 

“It’s not worth the risk. Sorry, Peter, I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to decline.” 

Peter appeared to consider Stiles’ answer. 

“I can’t even offer for two weeks more,” Peter said. “You have time to change your mind.” 

“I’m not going to change my mind. Sorry.” 

Peter didn’t say anything. 

A thought occurred to Stiles. For once, he did actually consider whether it was a good idea to ask, but then he asked anyway. 

“You said that Laura mentioned a name of someone connected to someone in the pack. Was it the same person? Or was it two different people who just happened to have the same name?” 

Peter looked at him. 

“Does it matter?” he asked. “She’s just as dead.” 

Stiles thought the fact that someone in the pack might have betrayed the rest was very important, but he could see Peter’s point too. Peter had killed his niece because she’d mentioned a name. It wouldn’t make things any better to know that the name had really been the person who’d burned the pack. It would make things a hell of a lot worse though to know that they weren’t, and that Peter had killed over a misunderstanding. 

“You told all this to Derek?” Stiles asked. 

“I told him I argued with Laura because she didn’t want revenge, and that I killed her when I lost control. He doesn’t believe me.” 

“Maybe I should trust his judgement,” Stiles said. “He knows you better than I do.” 

“Make your own judgement,” Peter said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t feel much like games today.” 

He picked up his coffee mug and downed what was left, and then let himself out of the house before Stiles could say anything else. Stiles just sat there in the den, wondering about everything he’d just heard. 

Peter had sounded sincere, but Stiles really didn’t trust that. What reason would he have to lie to Stiles? Actually, when he thought about it, there could be quite a few. Isaac had said that Peter was trying to mend fences with Derek, so Peter might be trying to get Stiles on his side in the hope that Stiles would convince Derek. It might be that Peter was trying to make Stiles feel sympathy for him to convince Stiles to join the pack. 

But that was another question. Why ask Stiles to join the pack? Peter’s reasons had sounded solid enough, but Stiles suspected the fact that he was the sheriff’s son might have more to do with it. A pack with ties to human law enforcement would be influential. Peter had admitted that he’d known about Stiles’ dad. Stiles decided that made a lot more sense than Peter picking him for his own qualities. 

If that was the case, Stiles definitely didn’t want the bite. And becoming a werewolf was a serious permanent thing. Especially if the bite killed him. Even if he survived, he couldn’t change his mind later if he decided he didn’t want to be in the pack. He would be stuck with the pack, stuck with Peter, forever. 

The thought of extending his time with Derek was pleasant, but Stiles could see challenges there too. He and Derek were in this out of a mutual desire for hot, steamy sex. They both knew that there was an end date to it. What happened if Stiles stuck around? Would Derek still be interested in him when the month was over and they’d tried every position they could think of? Stiles couldn’t imagine being part of the pack, being around Derek all the time, but having to keep his distance because they’d broken up. If it could even be considered a break up when all they did was sex. 

No, the sensible thing to do was exactly what he’d done. He didn’t want the bite. When the full moon rose, he would go home and put this whole incident behind him. 

***

Derek hadn’t realised how tense he was until he got back from work and saw that there were no cars parked in front of the house. He headed inside, finding Stiles in the kitchen as usual, browning some beef mince in a pan. 

“Hey,” Stiles greeted. Derek went over to him, greeting him with a quick kiss to the lips. 

“No Peter today?” Derek asked. 

“He was here earlier but he didn’t stay long,” Stiles said. He looked nervous, fiddling with the spoon and then turning back to his cooking, not looking Derek in the eye. 

“What happened?” Derek asked. He was already scenting the air, but he didn’t pick up any blood, or any scent of sex but their own. There was no sign of injury on Stiles. 

“We talked,” Stiles answered. “About… I asked him about your sister, about what happened with her.” 

“Did he… How did he react?” 

“We talked. He said some stuff and I don’t know whether I can believe it or if he’s just trying to win me over or use me to try and convince you of what he said. I mean, he sounded honest, but he could probably sound honest saying that the sky is green.” 

Derek felt a low surge of rage that Peter would try and manipulate Stiles this way. 

“Peter’s a killer,” Derek said. 

“Yeah. I know. He didn’t try and deny that. He just said that he didn’t mean to hurt her, that he just lost control. And if that came from a human, I’d be hugely suspicious. I mean, they’ve done psychological studies on abusive relationships, and when people say that they were out of control and didn’t mean it, most of the time they actually knew exactly what they were doing, but it’s different with a werewolf. But, I mean, I’m not a werewolf, so I don’t know what it’s like for you, whether losing control like he said is actually something that can happen.” 

“It can,” Derek said. “It does. But usually with teenagers.” 

“Teenagers?” 

“Even born werewolves don’t start transforming right away. When we’re little, we start feeling the pull of the full moon, but we don’t start transforming until we’re maybe ten or so, and then it’s only on the full moon. When we start puberty, the change begins completely. We start changing when we get angry or scared or our heart rate goes up. We have to learn control. A teenager just starting to change will have difficulty with control, but an adult with all the experience Peter has shouldn’t suffer the same problem.” 

“Even if he’s really angry?” Stiles asked. “He said he was talking about the people who killed your family and nearly burned him alive.” 

“I think it’s very convenient that an accidental loss of control got him all the power he’d ever wanted,” Derek said, a harsh bite of sarcasm in his tone. Stiles nodded, but Derek wasn’t sure that he was completely convinced. He hated this. He hated that Peter could worm his way into Stiles’ mind and sow these doubts. He wished he could afford to take the rest of the month off work and stay here to shield Stiles from Peter’s influence. 

“There’s something else,” Stiles said. 

Derek waited for Stiles to elaborate, nervous of what else Peter might have been attempting. He braced himself for the worst. 

“Peter offered me the bite,” Stiles said. “Not officially. He said he has to wait until the next full moon to ask me officially, but he told me he’s going to make the offer.” 

Derek felt his heart lurch and told himself it was just the surprise. He hadn’t pictured Peter making an offer like this. He felt a little twist of hope trying to wrap around him. He’d assumed that this thing between him and Stiles would be over when the moon rose. But maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe Stiles wanted to stick around, to try and make this wild fling into something more real. Derek hadn’t had what could be considered an actual relationship since Paige but, for Stiles, he’d be willing to give it a try. 

“What did you say?” Derek asked, trying to sound neutral, trying to keep that sliver of hope from overwhelming him before he even knew what Stiles thought of the situation. 

“I told him no,” Stiles said. “You guys are great and all, but I don’t want to be a werewolf.” 

So now he knew. Stiles didn’t want to try and make this work long-term. He didn’t want to be around Derek longer than he had to be. 

“OK,” Derek said. “It’s your choice. Well, I should go get cleaned up before dinner.” 

He walked out of that kitchen before he could say anything else. This didn’t change anything. He’d known Stiles would leave once the month was over. He’d known that this was just the two of them having fun and making the most out of this stupid ritual. So why did it feel like someone had punched him in the gut?


	13. Day Thirteen

Stiles was pretty certain that Derek was mad at him. Derek had barely said a word over dinner and then he’d said he wasn’t in the mood for anything, shutting himself away with a book, and then going to bed without another interaction with Stiles. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because Stiles hadn’t instantly dismissed all of Peter’s claims, or if he’d somehow offended Derek by saying he didn’t want to be a werewolf. 

Stiles hoped Derek would be in a better mood this morning, but he got up and went out to work with barely a word to Stiles. So he tried to catch Cora on her way out the door to ask what she thought the problem was. 

“He’s Derek?” she suggested with a shrug, then hurried off to her own job. And Stiles was left once more alone in the house. 

Stiles read for a while, going through the fragile book Peter had given him, reading about werewolf packs and rituals. The early chapters were about pack life, about the way members of the pack interacted with each other, the hierarchies of power within pack structure. Mostly, it was stuff he knew, talking about the challenges of alphas and way the power was passed on, but the book mainly focused on the family structure, talking about the nurturing nature of pack. The author was determined to paint the packs in a positive light, instead of as violent animals after increasing their own power. The book actually talked about the need to undo the damaging images of werewolves as monsters or animals. 

_Understanding is paramount,_ one chapter ended. The next chapter carried on in the same vein. 

_Man’s insistence on beliefs of animalism of werewolves will undoubtedly lead to a reoccurrence of hostilities and perhaps a renewal of the bloodshed which was have only so recently put aside. There are many hunters for whom the thought of treating werewolves as equals in humanity is an anathema. They abhor the weres as they would spawns of the devil himself. It is in acceptance of this breach of understanding that the alphas who have undertaken to sign the treaties of integration have determined a new means of building knowledge between the two sides of this most unfortunate conflict._

Stiles wasn’t sure at first what the book was on about but when he realised, he sat up sharply, pouring over the pages with renewed interest. The author was talking about bringing humans into werewolf packs for a period of time. He was talking about this very ritual. Stiles was astonished by the descriptions of the reasoning behind it. 

It was all about understanding. It wasn’t about having a slave to serve the pack sexually or otherwise. The idea was of mutual service. The chosen was supposed to serve the pack, but the pack was also supposed to protect and care for the chosen. The goal was for humans to see the pack interacting in normal ways, to understand that werewolves were as much people as humans were. It was meant to be about destroying stigma. It was also about teaching the werewolf packs that humans were much like them, that they were people to be respected, not looked down on because they were physically less strong. 

How the hell had they all got this so wrong? This ritual wasn’t about werewolves humiliating and abusing humans. It was supposed to teach two sides that had been warring to look past their differences and see the similarities. 

_This practice will yield a better future by bringing our children to be close in a way that we have never been. It is also a great test of an heir’s suitability to lead a pack. By placing the human specifically under the care and authority of the one who is to one day assume an alpha’s mantle, they will have a taste of what it is to lead a pack, to be responsible for another’s wellbeing. If these youths should misuse the power granted to them in this matter, it is a sign that perhaps they are not best placed to lead a pack. For one who abuses once, when they have the authority to do so, is likely to abuse again, and an alpha who leads by fear is no true alpha._

Stiles read whole sections of the chapter over again to ensure he was understanding them properly. If a werewolf took advantage of the chosen human, then it was supposed to be a bad sign and the alpha was meant to reconsider whether that person was the right person to be the heir. This ritual was supposed to be about weeding out the cruel and unsuitable. This was incredible. 

Stiles wondered if Peter had read this book, if he believed in the ritual in this sense. Stiles wondered if any werewolf on the planet actually followed this model anymore, or if everyone had forgotten what the choosing was supposed to be about. 

Even the bit about killing was in here, explained as a later addition to the ritual because a hunter had sent his son and managed to manipulate things so he was chosen. The hunter’s son had attempted to kill the alpha’s heir and been killed for it. The treaty had been amended to allow the werewolf packs to kill a chosen if they proved unsuitable for the task of bringing peace, if they came into the pack’s home with the purpose of bloodshed. Unsuitable didn’t mean that they were lousy slaves. Unsuitable meant someone who could never help bring understanding because they were bigoted and violent. 

Stiles was reading the chapter for the third time, trying to deal with all the implications, when there was a knock at the door. This startled Stiles into a jump, since Peter and the rest of the pack just tended to walk in without knocking. So who the hell would it be? Stiles almost wondered if maybe he shouldn’t answer it, since this wasn’t actually his house. 

But he set the book down carefully and went to the door anyway, opening it to reveal a Fedex guy. 

“Delivery for a... Stiles Stilinski?” the guy said it like a question, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was a name. Stiles couldn’t quite believe someone would be sending him a parcel. 

“That’s me,” he said, taking the box. It was a small cuboid of cardboard that he tucked easily under one arm. The mystery of the sender added to his confusion, but at least this was a mystery that could be quickly solved, unlike the stuff in the book. 

“Did you know that people have completely misinterpreted the choosing ritual for werewolf pack heirs when they come of age?” Stiles asked. The Fedex guy gave him a bewildered look. 

No,” he said. “Sign here.” 

Stiles signed and the guy rushed to get out there, no doubt worried by Stiles’ weird behaviour. Stiles took the parcel through to the kitchen so he could get a knife and cut through the tape. Inside, the first thing he saw was a little printed note reading _Stiles, I hear you like Star Wars. Enjoy. Derek._

Below the note, was a box containing cookie cutters. There was an X-wing, a TIE fighter, the Millennium Falcon, and finally a Death Star. Each one had the cutter around the edge, but they also had lines across the middle to indent the cookies and press the image into their surface. Maybe not just cookies. 

With a grin, Stiles through together a ham sandwich and then pressed the Millennium Falcon cutter down over it. He peeled away the edges of bread and ham, revealing a perfectly shaped space ship in the middle of the chopping board. He made the rest, deciding that now was as good a time as any to prepare tomorrow’s lunches for Derek and Cora. 

How the hell had Derek even known he liked Star Wars? Stiles considered this question as he made up the lunches. He’d talked about quite a lot of random stuff over the past couple of weeks, but he didn’t think that Star Wars had come up. Plus, there was the phrasing of the note to consider. Derek had _heard_ he liked Star Wars, meaning that someone must have told him. 

Stiles made up a batch of cookies, because there was no point having cookie cutters if he wasn’t going to use them for their proper purpose, then he went to the phone and dialled a familiar number. 

“Hey,” Scott answered. 

“Did you tell Derek I like Star Wars?” 

“Maybe?” Scott said. “Why?” 

“TIE fighter cookies.” 

“Huh?” 

“Derek ordered a parcel with these cookie cutter things and they’re awesome. I’ve got space ship cookies in the oven right now.” 

“Good?” Scott said, still making it sound more like a question. 

“Damn right, it’s good. So, thanks. And by the way, the entire world is completely wrong about this ritual.” 

“Stiles, I know you like to jump topics, but some of us can’t keep up with you. What the hell are you on about?” 

“This ritual. Peter gave me an ancient book, written maybe a couple of decades after the integration treaties. The choosing is about bringing a human into werewolf packs to build bonds and help both sides learn that the other side is basically the same as them and that everyone is a person. It’s actually really awesome and not about sex or anything, in fact, the whole reason why male heirs pick a boy and female heirs pick a girl is because it’s meant to help stop the heir taking advantage of the chosen and making sure that no one’s honour was compromised.” 

“Really?” Scott asked. 

“Really. This ritual was invented after all the killing as a way of teaching the next generation to be nicer to each other and it’s some really beautiful stuff and everyone’s just got it so completely wrong that I want to slap someone.” 

“Don’t slap someone. You’ll just get punched.” 

“Yeah, I know that, it’s just... ridiculous. These people came up with this idea of trying to unify the humans and werewolves, and now it’s all screwed up and there are werewolves abusing the chosen, and people trying to get chosen so that they can suck up to the alpha, or just for all the sex, not that I’m complaining about the sex because the sex is awesome and you should serious see Derek’s abs. Not that I actually want you to see Derek’s abs because those abs are all mine but, seriously, wow.” 

“Stiles, off topic,” Scott cut in. 

“Right. My point is... damn! I know I had a point a minute ago.” 

“Have you taken your Adderall today?” 

“Yeah, but I also ate a load of cookie dough playing with my spaceships, so I might be on a little bit of a sugar high right now. Anyway, where was I?” 

“The choosing,” Scott supplied. 

“Anyway, this whole thing is supposed to be about building understanding and teaching future alphas how to look out for someone else. I just don’t understand how we could have got it all so messed up.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” Scott said. 

“Yeah. I guess I don’t know either. I just think it’s crazy that people came up with this great idea about helping people get to know each other and it got turned into an excuse to abuse people.” 

“But you’re not being abused?” Scott asked. 

“God no. Derek’s actually kinda sweet, but never tell him I said that. He made me breakfast in bed the other day and now the cookie things. And he doesn’t smile much but sometimes he gets this slightly dopey grin and it’s just… edible.” 

“Stiles, you actually like this guy, don’t you?” 

“Yeah. And I know it’s stupid and I’m only with him because of the ritual and that I’ll probably never see him again after the next full moon, but I can still enjoy being with him now. I can still, like, pretend this is an actual relationship.” 

“Just don’t get in too deep,” Scott said. “You don’t want to get hurt.” 

“Derek wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” 

The kitchen timer went off then and so Stiles quickly ended the call and went to rescue the cookies. He’d meant what he said. He was sure Derek wouldn’t hurt him. Stiles might end up hurt because he was falling for Derek, but he could worry about that later. Right now, he could enjoy himself. And make cookies. 

***

Stiles laid out some of the cookies on a plate in the den while he waited for Peter to arrive, wondering if maybe today he wouldn’t do. It was possible that he’d decided he didn’t want to talk to Stiles after yesterday’s conversation. But then, at last, he heard the door and Stiles started making Peter’s coffee. 

Peter said nothing about yesterday. Stiles just made the coffees and carried them through to the den, where Peter was eyeing the cookies. 

“Star Wars cookies?” he asked. 

Stiles shrugged, “Derek got me some cutters.” 

“I think perhaps the safest cause of action is not to enquire.” His eyes fell on the book on the coffee table, his gift about werewolf rituals. 

“Did you read it?” Stiles asked. 

“No, though I have read texts which make reference to it.” 

“The stuff about the choosing is... completely different from what most people think it’s about today.” Stiles gave him a quick summary of what he’d read. He realised about half-way through that there was a faintly indulgent smile on Peter’s face, not any sign of surprise. 

“You already knew this,” Stiles said. 

“As I said, I’ve read texts which make reference to this book, talking about how the traditions of the packs have been corrupted.” 

“Were you trying to go back to the old ways when you picked me?” Stiles asked. “I mean, if you want to build understanding and connections between humans and werewolves, then picking the son of the sheriff makes sense.” 

“That thought had occurred to me.” 

“Why won’t you just say why you did this?” Stiles asked. “Why you picked me?” 

“Because I have accepted that no matter how I explain myself, certain people will automatically assume I’m lying anyway.” 

“But if you act all suspicious and don’t explain anything, then you can pretty much guarantee no one will trust you.” 

Peter appeared to think this over, leaning casually against the couch. He reached out slowly and picked up one of the cookies. He took a tiny nibble and nodded appreciatively. 

“Let’s see how clever you are,” Peter said. “Tell me what you think is going on and I will tell you if you’ve got it right.” 

Stiles felt suddenly nervous, like when a teacher placed a test down in front of him unexpectedly. His mind, which had been full of thoughts and ideas only moments earlier, was now thoroughly empty. Peter just sat back again, biting into the cookie and raising an eyebrow in invitation to Stiles to speak. 

“You knew I was the sheriff’s son,” Stiles said. “So getting me on the side of the pack would be a way of getting the sheriff on your side, particularly if I turned out to be ‘suitable’.” He made air quotes around the word. “If I become a werewolf, then you’ll definitely have the sheriff on the side of the Hale pack. So you could have picked me for the political connections. But you also said it was because I spoke up for Scott, because I was willing to protect someone I had a connection to. So you were looking for someone who’d protect the pack.” 

He’d been rambling, talking mostly to fill up the silence, but the sparks were firing in his mind now, the connections starting to form. He continued rambling. 

“Both of those points are about protecting the pack. Getting human authorities on your side, getting a new werewolf who’d fight for the pack, they’re all assuming that there’s some threat to be fought. You’ve grown the pack rapidly since Laura’s death, basically doubled the size and now you’re talking about adding someone else. I know werewolves get power from bigger packs, but that adds to it as well. You think there’s a threat. You want your pack to be stronger and bigger. You wanted to bring someone in who’s suspicious and stuff. You want allies. You’re trying to mend fences with Derek to get a united pack. It’s all about building your defences because there’s some danger you’re preparing for.” 

Stiles fell silent. He waited for Peter to tell him he was wrong, to get offended at the accusations that his pack was weak and needed help. 

“Deucalion,” Peter said. 

“Huh?” Stiles asked. 

“The threat has a name. He’s called Deucalion. The demon wolf.” 

“The demon wolf? Seriously? Does this guy have overly-developed melodramatic tendencies or what?” 

“He may be a little over-dramatic, but he is dangerous.” 

“How?” Stiles asked. When Peter didn’t answer, he continued, “Look, you say this guy’s dangerous, so I have a right to know in what way. I mean, if the pack’s in danger, then it could mean that I’m in danger and supposedly it’s the pack’s duty to look out for my well-being, which means you have an obligation to tell me everything I need to know, because otherwise I could get hurt in ignorance.” 

“Very well,” Peter said. “As werewolves, we have our own power structures, channels of influence, our own laws.” 

“Everyone knows that,” Stiles said. “Like, if another pack wants to travel through your territory, they’re supposed to check in with you.” 

“And if they want to live in our territory, they must get permission and yield to this pack’s authority. The Hale territory is large, larger than most territories in the country. And it’s considered prime territory. This wasn’t a problem when we had a large pack. It could be justified and, more importantly, it could be controlled. Since the fire, the neighbouring packs have been nibbling away at the edges of our territory.” 

“They’ve been claiming territory that should be yours?” Stiles asked. 

“Not in any major way. It’s like a neighbour pushing a fence by a couple of inches to give himself a slightly larger garden.” 

“Which is still technically illegal, since you ‘own’ the land, in a way. Not in the sense that you’ve paid money for it but...” 

“But we have the prior claim to the territory, yes,” Peter finished for him. He continued, “There’s a pack to the west of us: the Gorings. They’re a fairly large pack, as large as this one used to be, but their territory is small. They started encroaching into our territory almost as soon as the ashes cooled from the fire. Rather than challenge them on their actions, Laura drew up a settlement, handing over a portion of land. It wasn’t much, just a bit of farm land, but it was a sign of weakness.” 

“But if their pack is so large, did she really have much choice?” 

“She could have expanded this pack. She could have made an appeal to an outside authority to decide who the land should belong to. It didn’t have to be a direct fight. But she just gave in. And that was the start. I was in hospital for years after the fire, so it was just Laura, Derek and Cora. Laura let rival packs take away what should have been ours with barely a token resistance. She made us look weak, vulnerable. And now the rest of the packs plan to take advantage.” 

“This Deucalion, he’s after your territory?” Stiles asked. 

“Perhaps. Or he might just want to kill us all.” 

“Just,” Stiles echoed. He’d known, in some abstract sense, that werewolf packs vied for territory sometimes, but it was different to hear about it now. A part of him wondered if maybe Laura had made the fair choice. If the Hale pack was small and other pack was large, maybe giving them a bit of extra territory was just sensible, equitable. But he wasn’t going to suggest that to Peter. Now Peter was talking about violence and fighting, which seemed ridiculous to Stiles. 

“When I became alpha,” Peter said, “my first decision was to grow the pack, to make us seem less vulnerable. But a pack divided is a weak pack, so I let Derek decide who to offer the bite to. My little peace offering. He picked outcasts and invalids. They will be loyal to him, there’s no doubt of that, but they’re hardly the strong foundations for building a pack to be reckoned with.” 

“What’s wrong with them?” Stiles asked. He’d liked them well enough. He didn’t think they deserved such a look of scorn as Peter gave right now. No one deserved a look like that. 

Stiles decided to press on, “So you’ve got a bigger pack now. Surely you don’t look weak anymore?” 

“That depends on what happens next. Deucalion’s pack are still in Beacon Hills, in our territory. Somewhere.” 

“And presumably they haven’t asked your permission to be here?” 

“It’s a direct affront. As a pack, we can’t ignore this without sending a signal to every other pack out there that we don’t control our borders, but we can’t win against Deucalion in a head-to-head fight.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked. 

“There is a reason he is known as the alpha of alphas,” Peter answered. “His pack consists of alpha werewolves who’ve killed their own pack and absorbed their power. In a direct confrontation, his pack would destroy us.” 

“Then wouldn’t the same be true of any pack? Surely your neighbours won’t see you as weak because they wouldn’t be able to fight Deucalion either?” 

“It would make it more understandable, but not more excusable. We must strengthen our position in the eyes of our neighbours. And then we must find a way to get Deucalion out of our territory without any loss of life on either side.” 

“On either side?” Stiles asked. He was all in favour of no one getting killed, but he was still a little surprised by Peter’s statement. He could understand why Peter wouldn’t want any of his own hurt, but he wasn’t sure why he would mind so much if one of the other pack were killed. 

“If we were to kill one of Deucalion’s pack,” Peter said, “he would demand retribution. He would wipe us all out.” 

“And you wonder why I don’t want to be a werewolf,” Stiles muttered. This was so messed up he could barely get his head round it. Posturing and scheming around territory that the pack didn’t really need, but couldn’t afford to be seen losing. He supposed this explained the big party for Derek’s coming of age. It hadn’t been to impress the town with the pack’s power, it had been as a sign to their neighbours that the pack was back and shouldn’t be ignored anymore. 

“Have you talked to Derek about this?” Stiles asked. 

“He knows that Deucalion’s pack are still in town,” Peter said. “He knows what that means.” 

“But have you actually sat down and had a discussion like this one, where you lay out the facts and ask his opinion?” 

“Derek is never keen on a deep conversation with me,” Peter answered. “He doesn’t trust me.” 

“Maybe that’s because you don’t trust him,” said Stiles. “You don’t bother telling him your reasons because you don’t think he’ll believe you, but that just means all that is left is for him to speculate and get suspicious. You tell him he can pick the betas, but then you look down on the people he picked. You dismiss them without even trying to see what their merits are. You’ve already decided that Derek has picked useless people, rather than trying to see how they could be useful. Maybe your pack would trust you more if you actually talked to them like people whose opinions might matter, but you’re too busy looking down on Derek’s strategic thinking ability. You’ve already decided that they’re not as smart as you, that they won’t be able to help you, and you’re too much of a stubborn idiot to give them a chance to prove you wrong.” 

Stiles’ brain finally caught up with his mouth and he realised what he’d just said. His common sense had been frantically waving at him during that rant, trying to bring it to a halt, but the words had just steamrollered over it. Now he saw the way Peter was staring at him and he added quickly, “No offense.” 

“You just called me an idiot,” Peter said. “How is that not offensive?” 

Was this the point where he ended up eviscerated? 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, “it’s just that you were talking about how maybe Deucalion’s pack were here to kill you and yet this is the first I’ve heard of it. Why haven’t you had the pack here, having discussions, making plans? Have a big brain-storming session and get everyone to throw in ideas and maybe you can find a way to get through this. Think like a pack instead of a chess master with a bunch of pawns.” 

Peter was still staring at him. His face was so carefully controlled that Stiles couldn’t actually tell if he was angry or amused, all he knew was that his attempt at an apology had just turned into him giving Peter unasked for advice. Again. 

“Did you just tell an alpha werewolf how to be a good werewolf?” Peter asked. 

“Maybe,” Stiles said. He wondered about apologising again, but his last one hadn’t gone well. 

“I was wrong about you,” Peter said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You would never be anyone’s beta.” 

“Because betas don’t argue with the alpha?” Stiles asked. He should be offended that Peter no longer thought of him as suitable werewolf material, but he hadn’t wanted the bite anyway, so it made things easier if Peter withdrew his offer. 

“Not the way you do.” Peter said. 

“Maybe that’s your problem. If you surround yourself with yes men, you’ll never have anyone to challenge you, to point out the flaws in your plans. You need people you can trust to tell you when you’re wrong.” 

“I get the feeling you’ll never have a problem with pointing out anyone’s flaws.” 

“It’s a talent.” 

***

Peter’s car was parked in front of the house again when Derek got home from work. He’d been expecting it but that didn’t stop the sight making him angry. He wondered what Peter might be saying today, what lies he might be spinning to win Stiles over. Derek hurried inside. 

He found Peter and Stiles in the den, the go board between them, so covered with black and white pieces that Derek couldn’t tell who was winning. Stiles gave him a smile of greeting as he entered, but didn’t step away from the game. 

“Derek,” Peter said with fake warmth, “we’ve been waiting for you.” 

He sat back on the couch, away from the board. 

“Want to play your games with me too?” Derek asked. 

“I want to talk.” 

Peter gestured to the empty armchair. Derek stood beside Stiles’ chair, arms folded. 

“So talk,” Derek said. 

“There are situations at hand,” Peter said, “that impact the entire pack, yet you and I haven’t had a real discussion about them. One of those situations is Deucalion: his pack is still in Beacon Hills.” 

“He’s been here weeks and he hasn’t done anything,” Derek said. He understood that Deucalion was dangerous and he knew it was considered impolite for a werewolf pack to be in another’s territory without permission, but Deucalion’s pack hadn’t make any move against them. 

“Deucalion might be waiting to see how we react to the insult,” Peter said. “If we let this go unremarked it looks like weakness, but he could be trying to provoke us into challenging him so he can justify an attack against us.” 

“Assuming he means to attack us,” Derek said. 

“Assuming. He might have come to Beacon Hills for the tourism.” 

Derek wondered if maybe Stiles was a bad influence on Peter. He was sure Peter hadn’t always been so sarcastic. 

“What’s your point?” Derek asked. 

“My point is that we should have a proper discussion about how we should handle this threat,” Peter said. 

“You want somebody else’s opinion on something?” 

Peter glanced at Stiles and said, “It’s been suggest I need to be open to the concept of listening to others.” 

Derek found it hard to believe that anyone could convince Peter that other people’s opinions were valid, much less a human he’d known only a couple of weeks. Yet here Peter was, suggesting they had a discussion instead of Peter just announcing how things would be. Derek couldn’t remember the last time Peter had invited him to give his opinion on anything. 

“What are your thoughts about Deucalion’s pack?” Peter asked. 

“They can’t openly attack us,” Derek said. Well, technically they could, but not without good cause, otherwise the move would be seen as illegal even under werewolf law. Deucalion couldn’t make a challenge unless there was seen to be a valid reason. The truth was though that no one would dare make a big deal about it if Deucalion did make an open move. Everyone was too scared of Deucalion’s power. 

“You shouldn’t underestimate either his will or his power,” Peter said. “After all, he did kill his own pack.” 

“So did you,” Derek said. 

“Deucalion deliberately and systematically killed his own betas,” said Peter. “Laura’s death was an accident.” 

“So you say.” 

Peter might want to play as being politely and cooperative, but Derek wasn’t going to trust him for a moment. He wasn’t going to let Peter think he was falling for it. Presumably Peter saw that, because he sighed a little, a little frustration showing through his polite façade. 

“I didn’t mean to kill Laura, but I have to live with the guilt of knowing that I caused the death of a part of my pack. Surely you can understand that.” 

Derek froze. For a moment, it seemed like time stood still. The implications of Peter’s words and the tone with which he’d spoken sank in. The way he’d stressed the word ‘you’, just a little. He knew. He had to know. There could be no other meaning to the last part of that. 

And now Peter looked away, not meeting Derek’s eye. 

“How long have you known?” Derek asked. 

“Since the night I killed Laura,” Peter answered. 

Stiles was looking between them with utter bewilderment on his face, but Derek only had eyes for Peter right now. His thoughts still felt frozen by the shock of it. His greatest secret, his hidden guilt, and Peter knew it. Instinctive terrors were trying to get Derek to run and hide, to shut the world away and pretend his guilt wasn’t real. 

“How did you find out?” Derek asked. 

Peter’s eyes flickered towards Stiles for a moment before he said, “A name. Laura mentioned the name of your girlfriend. She didn’t know the connection.” 

“But you did… and you…” 

“I lost myself to anger. To know that one of the pack was used as an instrument in our destruction, that caused more fury than I could control.” 

Peter had never explained exactly why he’d lost control. That had been a large part of why Derek hadn’t trusted him. But now he knew the reason he’d kept it secret: Peter had been trying to protect him. His connection to Kate had cost him most of his family. Now that knowledge of that connection had triggered Laura’s death. Kate’s legacy lingered on and stole yet another of his loved ones from him. Because of him. Laura was dead because of him. Like everyone else. 

Derek fled the room. He couldn’t take any more, couldn’t face them. He ran for the stairs and then on up to the attic room, to the storage area. He found the boxes of the things they couldn’t bring themselves to throw away. He tore open boxes until he found one filled with clothes. There was an old sweater she wore all the time until her scent had soaked through to the fibres. He dug it out now but there was nothing but the scent of dust and time and lingering traces of fabric softener. Nothing left of his sister. 

He buried his sobs in the fabric. 

He sank down onto the floor, surrounded by the old boxes of Laura’s life, and cried into a garment she would never wear again. 

There were footsteps on the stairs but he didn’t look up. He couldn’t slow the flow of tears, the river of pain pouring out of him. 

“I don’t know if this is any consolation,” Peter said, “but Kate Argent is dead. I saw to that. No one will ever find her body. Well, they might find parts, but not enough to identify her.” 

That didn’t make Derek feel any better. The thought of Kate torn apart with whatever brutality Peter had engineered should have been a satisfying one, but it wouldn’t make Laura any less dead. 

Derek felt Peter’s hand on his shoulder, just for a moment. It was the closest they had come to closeness since before the fire. 

“I am sorry about Laura,” Peter said. “I’m sorry for what I did.” 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, face still buried in the sweater. “I’m sorry about Kate.” 

He wasn’t entirely sure he was apologising to Peter. He might have been apologising to whatever was left of Laura’s spirit. He realised that that was probably the first time he’d said those words. He’d never told anyone about Kate, so he’d never apologised for the fact that he’d brought her into the house, that he’d given her what she needed to destroy them. 

“I know,” Peter said quietly. Then he left, Derek’s shoulder cold where his hand had been. 

Moments later, there were new footsteps, a new scent filling the room. Then Stiles sat down beside him, side pressed against his. There was silence. For once, Stiles wasn’t talking and Derek was glad. He didn’t think he couldn’t handle Stiles’ constant chatter right now. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Derek said. 

“Where else would I be?” Stiles asked. 

“Away from me. Everyone around me ends up dead.” 

Stiles didn’t move. His body still touched gently against Derek’s. He didn’t understand. Through his tears, Derek saw the ghosts of his past, of all the people he’d loved. His parents, his sister, his cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Even Paige. The very first person who he’d killed. He could still feel her blood against his hands. 

“Go,” Derek said. “Just go. Forget about this stupid ritual. Just go home.” Stiles still didn’t move. “Stay away from me!” 

“No,” Stiles said. 

“Just go.” 

Stiles’ hand rested on Derek’s arm, another point of contact, a point of warmth. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles said.


	14. Day Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a lot happens this day. I was tempted to break this into two chapters and leave you with a horrible cliffhanger in the middle - but I decided to be nice. 
> 
> It's possible I use a different definition of 'nice' to the rest of the world. :)

Last night had passed in something of a blur. Derek remembered little after the conversation with Peter. He was reasonably sure he’d eaten something, and now he was in his own bed, Stiles pressed warm against him. Derek didn’t know what to make of that last part. He’d expected Stiles to leave, to run away in disgust when he found out what Derek had done. Maybe he just didn’t understand. 

Derek must have shifted a little, because something woke Stiles up. He opened his eyes now, looking at Derek with concern. 

“Hey,” he said, soft, gentle, as though Derek was a timid animal that might bolt. Stiles was worried about him, and that thought send a twist of guilt in Derek’s gut that made him want to vomit. 

Derek pulled away from Stiles’ embrace. He sat up on the edge of the bed, looking away from him. But then warmth touched him again, Stiles’ hand reaching out to rest on his arm. 

“You doing OK?” Stiles asked. 

“I killed my family, what do you think?” 

“You didn’t kill your family,” Stiles said. 

He didn’t understand. He didn’t get it. He might have heard Derek and Peter talking yesterday, but they hadn’t exactly spelled out the details. A part of Derek was tempted to leave things like this because he knew that the moment Stiles saw the truth, he would leave. He would hate him. Someone like Stiles couldn’t help but hate him. 

But Stiles would figure out the truth eventually. He was smart. Too smart. And when he learned the truth, Stiles would be yet another person that he’d betrayed. 

“I let her into the house,” Derek said. “Kate. Because she was hot. Because she pretended she liked me. I brought her inside and gave her the opportunity to tamper with the electrics and lay down accelerants and all the things she did to set the fire. She only had the chance because I gave it to her.” 

Derek waited for the hand to withdraw, for Stiles to leave him, or yell at him, or admit shock and disgust at the admission of his guilt. Instead, Stiles spoke, a bite of sarcasm in his tone. 

“Because I’m sure someone who went to all the trouble of figuring out how to set a house fire and make it look accidental would have just given up if you’d said no,” Stiles said. “She would have found another way. Befriending Cora, offering her services as a cleaner, showing up with girl scout cookies, I don’t know. If she went to all that trouble, I’m pretty sure she would have found a way to attack you no matter what.” 

“But I made it easy for her. I invited her in. I gave her all the opportunity she needed to set her trap.” 

There was quiet from behind him, but Stiles didn’t move his hand. 

After a minute, Stiles said quietly, “Have you come across the concept of victim blaming? It’s where people say that a victim was partially or fully responsible for something that was done to them. Like, when a girl is raped and everyone says that it’s because she was wearing a short skirt or drunk, or when a guy is shot and everyone says that clearly he was acting threateningly, so of course it was going to happen. It’s wrong. It puts the blame on the wrong person. And it’s what you’re doing here. You’re blaming yourself when it was someone else who set the fire. She tricked you. That makes her despicable, but it doesn’t say anything about you.” 

“It says I’m an idiot,” Derek said. He’d resented Peter for his obvious distain of his intelligence, but now Derek understood. Peter knew what Derek had done. Of course he thought Derek was stupid. 

“You were tricked. It could have happened to anyone.” 

Derek shook his head, “Anyone else would have questioned it. Why else would she have been so keen to get in my house?” 

“Because she wanted to get in your pants?” Stiles suggested. “Honestly, I’m surprised you can walk down a street without girls throwing themselves at you and begging to be taken back to your place, but that doesn’t mean they’re planning on murdering a bunch of innocent people.” 

Stiles might make jokes about his looks, but Derek knew he’d been foolish. He hadn’t even thought about what she might be after. All he’d been thinking about was getting in her pants. 

“I know I’m not going to say anything that will make these feelings go away,” Stiles said. “You probably need an expensive therapist and a whole lot of time spent unravelling this guilt. All I can tell you is that I don’t think you’re to blame. I don’t think Peter thinks you are either. I’m pretty sure he hunted down the bitch that did this to you and tortured her to death so I figure he knows where the blame rightly belongs. You’re not to blame, Derek. You’re not a bad person.” 

Derek felt a soft kiss placed against the back of his shoulder. Stiles was still there, touching him, offering warmth, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. But all Derek could think was that Stiles was seeing the person he was pretending to be, not the person he actually was. 

Derek’s alarm started beeping. He reached out and turned it off, standing automatically. 

“Are you going to be OK going to work today?” Stiles asked. “You could call in sick. I’d take care of you.” 

“I need to go to work,” Derek said. It wasn’t about money, though he couldn’t easily afford to take another day off this month. He needed to be doing normal things, following his routine, otherwise he would spend all day just thinking about his messed up past and all the things he’d done wrong. So, tempting though it was to crawl under the covers forever, he stood and headed to the bathroom. 

When he emerged, Cora was standing by her bedroom door. He might have thought she was waiting to use the bathroom, but the expression on her face said otherwise. She was looking at him with concern. 

“Did they tell you?” he asked. He was afraid to hear the answer. 

“Stiles said you and Peter had a conversation about the fire that upset you and you were looking through Laura’s stuff.” 

So Stiles hadn’t explained about Kate, that Derek had been the one to let an enemy into their home. Derek knew he should be grateful that Stiles had preserved his secret, but a part of him wished Stiles had told her. At least that way, Derek wouldn’t have to be the one to explain the truth. Because he couldn’t leave her in the dark now, not now that Peter knew and even Stiles. She deserved to know everything. 

“Before the fire,” Derek said, “there was someone I was seeing. It happened so quickly that I hadn’t introduced her to the pack yet, but I brought her home to… you know.” He gestured towards the bedroom. Cora nodded. “She’s the one the set the fire. She messed with the electrics and probably did a bunch of other stuff to help it spread. I invited her into our territory and she destroyed us.” 

Cora stared at him in shock for a moment. Of course she was shocked. Who wouldn’t be? But when she moved, it was Derek who was shocked. She came up to him and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Derek just stood there, frozen and tense in the middle of an embrace he didn’t think he deserved. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” he said. “It’s my fault. The fire… everything… It was my fault.” 

“Derek, you would never hurt the pack. I know that.” 

“But I did.” 

Her arms were still around him. She didn’t want to believe. 

He pulled away. He got dressed and headed down for breakfast. Stiles was in the kitchen. The meal was subdued. Cora joined them a few minutes in, but Derek was already finishing. He stood up to leave, but Stiles caught his hand before he could go. With his other hand, he handed over Derek’s lunchbox. 

“Derek,” Stiles said, “I wish I could say something that would make all this guilt and pain just disappear, but I can’t. All I can say is that you’re not alone.” 

He leaned in to kiss him. Derek pulled away. 

“You should go home,” Derek said. “Forget about this stupid ritual. Just go back to your dad.” 

“I’m not leaving you. Not like this.” 

Derek didn’t understand why Stiles is being so stubborn about this. Derek had already lost too many people and now Stiles just wouldn’t accept that he’d be safer if he never had anything to do with Derek. 

“Why the hell not?” Derek demanded. “It’s not like you were going to be sticking around after the month was up anyway. You were going to be leaving in two weeks anyway so why not get it over with now?” 

“Derek,” Cora said, voice quiet. Derek ignored her. He just kept on glaring at Stiles, who looked stricken, like he’d been hit. A part of Derek wanted to take him in his arms and make that look disappear forever, but this wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t real. It was better that he faced it now, that he got it over with. 

“This month is about you serving me,” Derek said, “about you obeying me. Well right now I’m ordering you to leave.” 

“Derek,” Cora said quickly. “Shut up before you say something you’ll regret.” 

She tried to put herself between Derek and Stiles. Derek shoved her aside. 

“Get out of my house,” Derek told Stiles. “Just go. I don’t want you here.” 

Stiles was pale, shocked-looking, almost trembling. He was gnawing at his lower lip in a way that almost made Derek want to kiss it, but he didn’t dare think about that now. Stiles just nodded. He turned away. 

“Stiles, wait,” Cora said. She hurried after him as Stiles walked into the hall. Derek waited in the kitchen, listening to what could be the last words he ever heard from Stiles. 

“No,” Stiles said, “he’s right. It’s not like we’re a couple or anything. I’m his slave. I was told getting into this that I should obey every order, so finally I’m going to do what I should have been doing all along. I’m going to do what I’m told. It’s been nice knowing you, Cora.” 

Derek heard the door open and then slam shut. 

A moment later, Cora was back in the kitchen. 

“You are the biggest jerk in the history of jerking,” she told him. 

“So you’ll hug me for killing our family but yell at me for trying to keep Stiles safe?” 

“Is that what you think you’re doing?” 

“Yes. And it’s better he’s out of here now rather than force him to stick around somewhere he doesn’t want to be for another two weeks.” 

“What makes you think he doesn’t want to be here with you?” she asked. 

“Because he told me. He doesn’t want to be part of the pack. This, whatever this is between me and Stiles, it was never going to last beyond the ritual. It’s better if I just stop trying to fool myself that this is more than it is.” 

He shoved past her and out to his Camaro, only realising then that he still had the lunchbox in his hand. He tossed it down on the passenger seat and started driving. He barely pulled away from the house when he saw Stiles there, walking along the path through the trees, shoulders slumped down. Stiles turned his head away from the car as Derek passed him. 

Derek clenched his hands around the steering wheel and reminded himself that this was for the best. Stiles would get to be home, where he wanted to be, and Derek could start getting over him. 

***

Stiles walked along and tried not to cry. He didn’t want to break down until he was well away from the Hale house. He trudged along, step after step, reminding himself that this had never been real. Derek had made that pretty damn clear today. This had never been a relationship. It had been Derek having fun with the slave he’d been given as a birthday present. Now he was just getting rid of a toy he’d got bored with. 

This was exactly what Stiles had been afraid of at the beginning. He’d been afraid of being used. He’d thought Derek was different, but still he’d tossed him aside. 

Stiles felt the tears burning behind his eyes and he tried to force them back. 

He heard the car behind him. Cora, no doubt, heading off to work. But the car slowed down to a stop beside him. Stiles kept walking. 

“You going to walk all the way home?” Cora asked through the open window. She crawled the car along beside him. 

“Was planning on it,” Stiles said. 

“Stiles, just get in the car.” 

“Is that another order?” 

He wasn’t angry at Cora. She’d been nothing but nice to him through this whole situation. If they’d met under different circumstances, they might have been friends. But he couldn’t handle this right now. He just kept walking, step after step, along the side of the road, with Cora’s car creeping along beside him. 

“Stiles, I’m sorry my brother is a jerk. Please get in the car.” 

“Shouldn’t you be getting to work?” 

“I’ve called a sick day.” 

“Werewolves don’t get sick.” 

“Right now I’m pretty sick of you and Derek being stubborn assholes, does that count? But I can be just as stubborn. Now get in the car.” 

Stiles thought it entirely possible that Cora would follow him the whole way home like this. At least if he got in the car, it would be over quicker. So he stopped walking. She brought the car to a complete halt and Stiles climbed into the passenger seat. Cora started driving. 

“Why don’t we go somewhere fun?” she suggested. 

“Just take me home,” Stiles said. He stared out the window. 

“OK.” 

She drove, but they hadn’t even reached the edge of the preserve when she started talking again, asking, “Is it true that you turned down being part of the pack?” 

“I don’t want to be a werewolf. No offence to you, but it’s just not for me.” 

“So that’s why you said no? It’s nothing to do with Derek?” 

“Maybe a little,” Stiles admitted. “He’s made it clear that whatever’s going on between us is only for the ritual. It’s not real. I’m not sure I could cope being around him after all this if we had to change to being, I dunno, pack brothers or something.” 

“Stiles,” said Cora, “you’re an idiot.” 

“Way to make me feel better.” 

“I’m serious. I’d hit you round the head but I’m concerned you wouldn’t have any brain cells left afterwards.” 

“Do you have a point?” Stiles demanded. He really wasn’t in the mood for insults, playful or not. He’d had his feelings trampled in the dirt enough for one day. 

“My point is that before he left the house, Derek said pretty much the same thing you just said, about how you’ve made it clear that this thing between you isn’t real and how he should stop fooling himself that it might be. Because let me tell you, I haven’t seen Derek smile the way he smiles at you, not since before the fire. Not even really then. You make Derek happy.” 

“That’s just the sex and the endorphins,” Stiles said. 

“Nope. I’ve seen Derek after he’s had sex, he’s never been as diabetes-inducingly sappy as he is around you. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. I can’t promise that the two of your are going to get married and live happily ever after and raise a pack of fluffy were-cubs, but I can promise that whatever he’s feeling for you is real.” 

A part of him wanted to believe her. He wanted to succumb to the romantic dream and imagine that Derek would sweep him off his feet and they’d get some storybook ever after. But he knew that the real world didn’t work that way. 

“He basically told me to get lost,” Stiles said. “He literally ordered me out of the house.” 

“He thinks he’s keeping you safe.” 

“Safe? From what?” 

Cora shrugged, “Himself. Peter. Rival packs that will see you as an easy target. Hunters who’ll set fire to a house and not care that there are innocent people inside.” 

“’Everyone around me ends up dead’,” Stiles muttered. 

“What?” 

“It’s something Derek said yesterday, when he was crying. He tried to get me to leave then, saying the people around him got hurt.” 

“He’s trying to keep you safe,” Cora said, “because he cares about you.” 

“He’s an idiot.” 

“Yep.” 

Stiles continued to stare out the window of the car. They were passing houses now, familiar streets. He was going home, but he just felt an aching loss inside him at the thought that he might not see Derek again. 

“He makes me happy too,” Stiles said quietly. 

“Then maybe this isn’t the answer,” Cora said, as she pulled the car to a halt by the curb in front of his house. 

Stiles stared at the house, with the darkened windows, the empty driveway. His dad was probably at work already and he didn’t even have his keys. They hadn’t been allowed to take anything into the choosing; that was how this whole mess had started in the first place. So Stiles couldn’t even let himself inside his own home. It wasn’t like they had a secret rock with a key hidden under it, because his dad had talked about how incredibly unsafe that was. He didn’t really feel like spending the idea day sat in front of his house waiting for his dad to come home from work. He could go over to Scott’s or something, but even that felt like giving up. 

“If romance movies have taught me anything,” Stiles said, “it’s that heartbreak needs ice cream.” 

“Ice cream it is then,” Cora said. 

She started driving again. 

There were no places open that served ice cream at this time of the morning, so they ended up at the store. Cora bought a big tub of ice cream and a packet of plastic spoons so they’d have something to eat it with, and then they sat out in the car in the parking lot, eating the ice cream while music played on the radio. 

“What should I do about Derek?” Stiles asked, after they’d got through about a quarter of the tub and he was starting to regret this as what was effectively his breakfast. 

“Besides hitting him round the head for being an idiot?” Cora asked. 

“Besides that, yes.” 

“Talk to him. You both need to stop just assuming what the other person thinks or feels. If you want this to be a relationship, tell him that.” 

“And will he just try to chase me away again?” 

“Maybe. Probably. He… he has issues.” 

“Well, I guess seeing your family burned alive by your girlfriend will do that for you,” Stiles said. He wondered, even as he said it, if he should be cutting Derek more slack. After all, Derek had been through a hell of a lot more than most people ever had to deal with. 

“He had issues before the fire,” Cora said quietly. “He’ll probably hate me for telling you this, but I think you have a right to know because it’s behind so much of what he’s afraid of when it comes to you.” 

“What?” Stiles asked, when it became obvious that Cora wasn’t going to carry on without prompting. She was holding her plastic spoon in her hand, twirling it slowly and staring at it. Stiles recognised it as the act of fidgeting while trying to put something into words in the right order. 

“He had a girlfriend,” Cora said. “She was called Paige. Nice girl. Derek fell for her and I mean hard. Took all of about two days for him to start looking up love poems to leave in her locker.” 

“Love poems? _Derek?_ ” 

“Love poems, roses, chocolates. Every cliché in the book. It didn’t take him long to go to Mom and start asking for her to give Paige the bite so that they could be together forever. Mom told him that it was too soon, that they’d only just started dating, that they should wait and see what happened, but Derek insisted that it was true love. So he went to another alpha. There were a bunch of other werewolf packs in town for a summit, but that’s a whole other story. The point is that Derek found an alpha who was willing to give Paige the bite.” 

“I’m assuming this isn’t going to end with a happily ever after?” Stiles said. 

“She rejected the bite. She died. And, of course, she’d only agreed to the bite because of Derek so he, well…” 

“He blamed himself for her death.”

“Yeah.” 

“And then Kate and the fire, and then Laura. God, that’s a hell of a lot for one person to deal with.” 

“Yeah,” Cora said again. 

Stiles couldn’t imagine what that must have been like. Derek had lost his first love and it was because of something he’d done. No wonder he freaked out about people getting hurt around him. 

“Derek’s not going to make the first move in a relationship,” Cora said. “Not ever. He’s too scared because of all of this. I think right now he’s terrified because what he’s feeling around you is what he felt around Paige, and he’s scared that he’ll screw up and you’ll end up dead too.” 

Stiles didn’t know how to react to any of this. He couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make all Derek’s traumas and insecurities go away, but he couldn’t just ignore this either. Not if everything Cora said about Derek’s feelings was true. He could walk away from Derek if Derek wasn’t really interested in him, but he was damned if he was going to give up if they both felt the same way. 

Cora’s phone went off. She cursed and dug around in her purse to find it. 

“Hey,” she said. “Oh, not again… Yeah… Yeah… Fine… OK” She sighed and hung up, looking extremely frustrated. She turned to Stiles, “One of my co-workers has decided to not show up for work again and since my boss knows I’m not actually sick, he’s asked me to come in. Are you going to be OK?” 

“I’ll be fine. I might throw up from eating too much ice cream, but I’m fine.” 

“I could call Peter and get him to take you back to the house. Assuming you want to go back to the house. You could go see your friends or your dad or something. I mean, you were ordered out of the house.” 

“Of course I’m going back to your house. Call Peter. He can pick me up here but…” Stiles hesitated. 

“Yes?” 

“Could I borrow some money? If I’m going to sort things out with Derek, I feel like I need some big, clichéd romantic gesture.” 

Cora laughed and dug some notes out of her purse. 

“Knock yourself out,” she said. 

Stiles got out of the car and she drove off. He headed back into the store, but not before tossing the mostly empty ice cream carton in the trash. He was feeling somewhat queasy now thanks to all that ice cream, so the sight of all the food inside the store wasn’t doing good things to his stomach. He decided to forego chocolates as part of his showy, romantic gesture, but he could still go with a classic. There was a stand near the entrance with buckets of fresh flowers. Nothing said ‘I want a relationship and not just hot, steamy sex’ like a bunch of roses. Stiles grabbed a dozen and then took them to the counter to pay extortionate amounts of Cora’s money for them. Maybe he should have picked something less clichéd and less expensive, but he’d made his choice now. Stiles took the bunch of flowers and went to wait outside for Peter. 

He didn’t know how long Peter would take. He didn’t have a phone or a book or anything to do because he’d left the house with nothing but the clothes he’d been wearing. So all he could do was stand in front of the store and wonder if he was approaching this the right way. Derek was clearly messed up by the whole concept of relationships so turning up with roses might be stupid. Derek might try to kick him out of the house again. 

Or Cora might be wrong. That thought kept surfacing no matter how Stiles tried to banish it. If Cora was wrong, then Stiles was about to make the biggest fool of himself that there had ever been. 

“Well, isn’t this sweet,” a voice said behind him. Stiles jumped, startled out of his thoughts. Something about the tone reminded him of Jackson, but it was a guy he’d never seen before, tall and bulked with muscle, maybe a little older than Stiles, talking to another guy who looked absolutely identical. They had to be twins. 

“Flowers for his master,” the other twin said. “Never seen that before.” 

“Can I help you with something?” Stiles asked. These two presumably knew who he was to make the comments about a master. He wondered if they were like Jackson, angry that someone like him had been chosen. 

“We’d like you to deliver a message,” the first twin said. 

“Sure. No problem. I don’t have anything to write it down with though, so you’d better keep it short.” 

“It’s not the sort of message you just write down,” the second twin said. Then his eyes shone red. 

***

Derek made it through a morning of laying foundations for a new development. It was all nice and straight-forward, something to let him focus on what was in front of him and not the fact he’d be going home to a house without Stiles in it. He didn’t regret the decision. It was better for everyone if Stiles went home, but that wouldn’t stop Derek missing him. 

His co-workers tried to make a few teasing remarks about his mood this morning, but a few glares and they quickly fell silent, everyone focusing on their work to avoid his wrath. Derek kept working with barely a word to anyone. 

Derek called for a lunch break when they’d finished laying the concrete. He went to the lunchbox Stiles had packed for him, hardly daring to open it. Stiles would have made this for him yesterday, before everything fell apart. He forced himself to lift the lid, seeing the sandwiches within, cut in the shapes of Star Wars spaceships. A little Millennium Falcon made from bread and ham. There were cookies as well, an X-wing tucked in the corner of the box. It should have made him smile. Instead, it made him want to break down in tears. 

He checked his phone out of habit. He’d left it with his stuff because there was always a chance of a mishap on a building site, so he just checked the messages when he took a break. He half-expected to see an angry rant from Cora, but instead there were six missed calls from Peter. 

He’d probably got to the house and found Stiles wasn’t there and wanted an explanation. Derek called up his voicemail, dreading whatever message Peter would have left. 

“Get to the hospital right now,” Peter’s voice said. “It’s Stiles.” 

That was the entirety of the message. Derek stared at his phone for a moment and then started moving, abandoning his lunch, his work, his colleagues, everything. He got into his car and started driving, even though he was probably in no fit state to be behind a wheel. 

Stiles was at the hospital. What could have happened? Anything could have happened. He could have been hit by a car walking away from the house. He could be sick. He could have hurt himself because Derek had upset him. He could have been mugged. Anything. 

Scenarios span in Derek’s imagination and he ignored stop signs and speed limits, racing to the hospital. He needed to know that Stiles was alright. A whispering thought lurked in the back of his mind. He needed to know that this wasn’t his fault. 

He parked the car in the first spot he could find and raced to the hospital entrance. He saw Peter standing over to one side of the large waiting area. There was blood all over him, staining his clothes, caking his hands. Derek knew without even trying that it was Stiles’ blood. 

He raced over there, seized Peter by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall, feeling the rage of the change already burning inside him. 

“What the hell did you do to him?” Derek demanded. 

“It wasn’t me,” Peter said. There was a snarl in his tone too, rage in his eyes. 

“His blood is all over you.” 

“Because I found him bleeding out behind the store and had to try and stop the blood loss while I waited for the ambulance to get there.” 

Peter grabbed hold of Derek’s wrists, twisting them sharply to break Derek’s hold with a sharp stab of pain. Derek let go under the force of Peter’s strength, but he didn’t back off. He kept glaring into Peter’s face because Stiles was hurt and Peter was the one with blood on his hands. 

“I didn’t hurt him,” Peter said. “Someone else did and left him there for me to find.” 

“Is he…” Derek didn’t dare finish the question. 

Peter jerked his head towards the double doors that led through into the rest of the hospital, “He’s somewhere in there. The doctors are seeing to him.” 

But Derek could hear the nervous speed of Peter’s heart, smell the tension even through the overwhelming stench of blood. Peter was worried. He was scared. 

Derek took a step back out of Peter’s space. 

“What happened?” Derek asked. 

“Cora called me. She said she was at the store with Stiles but that she needed to go in to work. She asked me to pick up Stiles and take him back to the house. When I got there, I couldn’t see him anywhere but I picked up his scent and found him round the back of the store, out of sight of the parking lot. He was bleeding, a lot. It was a werewolf who hurt him, or someone who was really, really good at making it look like a werewolf.” 

Derek thought back to the conversation the day before, to the worries that he hadn’t wanted to listen to. 

“Deucalion,” he said. 

“Or one of his minions.” 

“Why?” Derek asked. 

“I don’t know. To provoke a fight, to see how we’d react.” 

This was a hair’s breadth from being an open challenge. If Deucalion had attacked a member of the pack, it would have been him making the first move and inviting violence. Technically, Stiles wasn’t part of the pack, but he was under the pack’s protection. If the Hale pack attacked now, Deucalion might paint it as them making the first open move, but hurting Stiles was a challenge that couldn’t be ignored. It was an outrage and Derek longed to tear Deucalion apart for it, no matter how suicidal he knew a direct attack to be. 

“If Deucalion wants a fight, he’ll get it,” Derek said. 

“Don’t be an idiot. His pack has more power than us. He could be trying to draw us into a direct assault so that he can kill us all.” 

“He hurt Stiles.” 

“I know. And we’ll find a way to make him pay. But we’ll do it the smart way.” 

Derek didn’t want to do things the smart way. He wanted blood. He wanted to feel bones snapping because Stiles was hurt and someone had done it deliberately, to get to them. Stiles was hurt and yet again it was Derek’s fault, because Stiles wouldn’t have even been out there to get hurt if Derek hadn’t sent him away. It took every ounce of control Derek had not to snap right then and there and just start smashing things to pieces. 

He wanted to see Stiles. He _needed_ to see Stiles. He needed to see that he was alright. Oh god, he’d better be alright. 

The doors from the rest of the hospital opened and the sheriff came out. The man made a beeline straight for the two werewolves. 

“Is he alright?” Derek asked, the words coming out in a frantic rush. 

“He’s stable.” 

“I need to see him.” 

“Family only,” the sheriff said. There was fury in his eyes to match any werewolf. He turned to Peter, “You’re coming down to the station right now to give a statement.” 

“Am I under arrest?” 

“That all depends on whether you cooperate because right now my son is having claw marks in his chest stitched and you were found with your claws all over him so you had better come quietly or I will take great pleasure in taking you in by force.” 

Derek didn’t doubt a word of that and he was sure Peter didn’t either. Right now, Derek didn’t know for sure whether Peter was the one who’d hurt Stiles or not but he didn’t think so. If Peter was going to hurt Stiles, he would have done it in such a way as to be caught so literally red-handed. 

Derek watched Peter leave quietly and calmly with the sheriff. Then he was left in the waiting area. He knew he should wait here for answers, but the need to see Stiles was still burning inside him. He wanted to see him, touch him, smell him, to know in a physical way that he was alive. 

So Derek headed through the double doors and sniffed the air, hunting for a scent. He hated the smell of hospitals, had done since the fire. They stank of chemicals and blood and guts and desperation. But he hunted through all that, searching for that other scent, searching for Stiles. 

He walked along the corridors, took the stairs up and hunted again, a predator sniffing out a quarry’s trail. 

“Derek?” a voice asked from behind him. Derek turned and saw Scott standing there, next to a dark-haired woman in nurse’s scrubs. 

“I need to see Stiles,” Derek said. 

“It’s family only,” the woman said firmly. “He’s been through a lot.” 

“Mom, it’s OK,” said Scott. “I think Stiles would want him there.” 

Scott didn’t know about the fight earlier, that Derek had sent Stiles away. Right now, Derek wasn’t sure Stiles would want him anywhere near, but Derek wasn’t going to say that because it looked like Scott’s words had bought him what he wanted. The nurse nodded and led the two of them to a door which she opened with a swipe of her security card. Derek noted that she wasn’t saying anything about Scott not being family. 

They both followed her to a private room and Derek could breathe in the scent of Stiles, mingled with the chemicals and the blood. There he was lying on a bed, skin pale, a hospital gown covering up bandages. Derek wanted to rush over there and grab Stiles into an embrace, but he didn’t dare. He just walked to the side of the bed and touched his fingers against Stiles’ cheek, feeling the soft warmth of the skin. He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat, slow and steady, even without the ping of the machines. 

He was alive. He was being cared for. 

“His condition is stable,” the nurse said. “He lost a lot of blood, but he should be fine. The injuries were mostly superficial. He’ll be out for a while. Anaesthetic.” 

Derek nodded, unable to form words. His cheeks were already wet with tears. There was no way he’d be able to speak right now. There was no way he’d be able to do anything but stare at Stiles and remind himself with every heartbeat that Stiles was safe now. Derek wasn’t going to let anything happen to him again.


	15. Day Fifteen

Stiles felt like he was floating, drifting along on clouds. It felt like he was still dreaming, but he was pretty sure that dreams shouldn’t hurt like this. There was a low throbbing pain in his chest but he felt somehow disconnected from it, like the pain was a deep ocean but he was only floating on the surface of it. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw an unfamiliar room filled with the unmistakable scent of a hospital. He didn’t need a werewolf nose to tell him where he was. He turned his head just a little to get a better look. There were chairs on either side of his bed. His dad was asleep in one, Derek asleep in the other. 

There was someone else there, standing over the bed. Stiles wondered how it was he hadn’t noticed her before. She didn’t seem to fit here, and Stiles wondered if he was dreaming her, or if the drugs he was undoubtedly on were messing with his mind because he couldn’t make sense of her presence. 

“Well, Stiles,” Ms Morrell said, “it seems you didn’t take my advice about how to stay alive.” 

She looked him up and down. Stiles looked down too, seeing the white of bandages poking out from the hospital gown. The memories of the attack were slowly filtering through the fog in his brain. 

“They didn’t do this,” Stiles said, his voice a dry croak. “The Hales. They didn’t.” 

“A chosen slave away from the pack he’s meant to serve,” she said. “It doesn’t look good. It looks like a slave trying to run away and werewolves will step in to punish that.” 

“I wasn’t running. They knew I wasn’t running.” 

Stiles wondered why Derek was still asleep. Surely this noise should have woken him. It wasn’t like they were trying particularly hard to be quiet. 

“It doesn’t matter what they knew,” Ms Morrell said. “What matters is what they will say. They will claim their actions are justified under werewolf law, that they were helping the Hale pack to control a disobedient slave. Any violence against them will be protested as unwarranted.” 

Even with drugs, the implications were clear. 

“The twins,” Stiles said, “were trying to provoke a fight. They want Peter and Derek to attack them, so that they can claim the Hales struck first.” 

And they were using him to do it. The way the twins had hurt him, they hadn’t been going in for a clean kill, but they clearly hadn’t cared if he died. He didn’t matter to them, not as a person, just a piece in this game the werewolves were playing. 

“I hate being a pawn,” Stiles muttered. 

“Do you know what happens to a pawn that makes it all the way to the other side of the chessboard? If a pawn can survive the battle, it can become one of the most powerful pieces on the board.” 

“I’d make a joke about already being a queen, but I think the drugs are impairing my punning.” 

Ms Morrell gave a little smile at that. 

“My point,” she said, “is that you don’t have to be a werewolf to be a player in these games.” 

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it for just a moment. 

“Good luck, Stiles,” she said. “I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it.” 

She turned and walked out. Stiles thought about calling after her, but he didn’t know what to say. The instant the door shut behind her, Stiles had other things on his mind because Derek was stirring. Derek’s eyes locked onto Stiles’ for a moment and then he was completely awake, standing beside the bed. He reached out to take Stiles’ hand and then hesitated, as if unsure he had the right. After all, they’d never had the conversation Stiles had meant to have. 

“I got you flowers,” Stiles said. 

Derek looked at him, concerned. “Are you OK? Should I call the doctor?” 

He must have thought Stiles was delirious. Maybe Stiles was. Maybe the drugs were messing him up. 

“I got flowers,” Stiles repeated. “I wanted to say we could be more than the ritual. If you wanted.” 

“But you said no,” Derek said. “When Peter asked you, you said no.” 

“I said no to being a werewolf. Would I have to be a werewolf for you to want me?” 

“No,” Derek said. He caught Stiles’ hand and raised it to his lips to kiss it. “I want you, exactly as you are.” 

“What every father wants to hear when he wakes up,” came the muttered comment from the other side of the bed. Stiles turned his head and saw his dad awake now. 

“How are you doing, kiddo?” his dad asked. 

“Sore and floaty.” 

“Do you need a doctor?” 

“No,” Stiles shook his head. 

“Do you remember what happened?” 

“Twins. Werewolf twins. They both had alpha eyes. Said they wanted to send a message. Then clawing and ouch and I think I passed out. I punched one in the groin though. Before I passed out. Obviously.” 

“So it wasn’t Peter Hale?” his dad asked. 

Stiles shook his head, “Wasn’t there. Just twins.” 

“I’m going to need you to give a description, are you up for that?” 

“Ethan and Aiden,” Derek said, before Stiles could say anything. “They’re the only twins I know of who are both alphas. They’re in Deucalion’s pack.” 

“They want to make you attack them,” Stiles said. 

“Did they tell you that?” his dad asked. 

“No. She did.” Stiles gestured vaguely towards the door, but Ms Morrell was long gone now. Stiles wasn’t even sure why she’d been here in the first place. 

His dad asked him a few more questions and Stiles answered them as well as he could, then he gave in to the floaty druggy feeling and let himself drift into sleep again. 

***

When Stiles woke next, it was to the sound of a quiet argument. 

Cora was saying, “I’ve heard him talk about your diet often enough. You’re not getting one.” 

“One donut won’t kill me,” Stiles heard his dad say. 

“No donuts,” Stiles said, the words leaving his mouth automatically before he was even really awake. He blinked his eyes open and saw the little cluster of people around his bed. His dad and Cora were there, along with Scott and Derek, and even Isaac. Most of them were currently eating donuts from a box Cora was holding. 

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad said, “did we wake you?” 

“Little bit,” Stiles said. “Do I get a donut?” 

“No. You need healthy things to help you heal.” 

“You sound like me,” Stiles said, which made his dad smile. 

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked. “Are you in pain?” 

“Little bit. Still kinda floaty.” 

“They’ve got you on some pretty strong painkillers,” his dad said, “but you’re going to be OK. You just need to be careful not to aggravate the injuries.” 

“But I’m always aggravating,” Stiles muttered. A couple of people chuckled, but Cora groaned. 

“Conscious less than a minute,” she said, “and already making terrible puns.” 

His dad cut in then, saying that the needed to go over everything that happened again, “To make sure we didn’t miss anything when I got your statement last night.” 

So his dad got a notebook out to write details down and Stiles told the story again, short as it was. How Cora had left and called Peter to pick him up, how the twins had shown up, their comment about leaving a message, and how they dragged him round behind the store and just starting slashing at him with claws. 

“I tried to fight,” Stiles said. 

“They were two alpha werewolves,” Derek said. “I wouldn’t win a fight against them.” 

“Do you remember Peter’s involvement?” Stiles’ dad asked. He shook his head. 

“I don’t remember him being there.” 

“Well,” his dad said, “that fits with Peter’s version of events. He claims he got the call from Cora and came to find you, and that you were already injured and unconscious when he got there. He’s the one that called for an ambulance. We’ve got security camera footage from the front of the store showing the twins approaching you and grabbing you. We’ve no footage of the actual assault but it should be enough to arrest the twins.” 

“This was a werewolf crime,” Peter said from the doorway. Stiles wondered how long he’d been standing there listening. 

“We will deal with the twins,” Peter continued, “and make them pay for their attack on one who was under the protection of our pack.” 

“No,” Stiles said. 

Every eye in the room was on him again, werewolves and humans staring at him in surprise. 

“No?” Peter echoed. 

“They want you to attack them. The twins, their pack, they expect you to go after them. You attack them and they kill you and claim that it was self-defence.” 

“They struck first,” Derek said. 

Stiles thought of everything Ms Morrell had said last night, all that stuff about how the twins would frame the story. He tried to get his thoughts in order despite the drugs because this was important and he knew he needed to make them see. 

“It’s the story,” he said, which just earned him confused expressions. “They tell the story if they win. I was a disobedient slave and they found me out alone so I must have been running away. They stepped in to help the local pack contain me but you guys took offence and attacked them. They had no choice but to fight back. ‘Such a shame they resorted to violence when we were only trying to help and isn’t it a tragedy that everyone’s now dead’.” 

Stiles felt exhausted just from talking, but he thought he’d got his point across. The others were looking at him but no one seemed about to argue. 

“What do you propose?” Peter asked. 

Stiles wondered why he had to be the one to come up with a plan, particularly given that he was still pumped full of drugs, but he gave it a shot. 

“Tell a different story,” Stiles said. Everyone still looked confused. “What have the press been saying about this?” 

“Nothing yet,” his dad said. “We’ve kept the press out of this so far because you’re still a minor but it won’t be long before word gets out.” 

“Put the word out,” Stiles said. He looked at Peter, “Talk about this brutal attack against an innocent human. Condemn the werewolves that did it. Say they were like… teenagers who haven’t learned control. Say that this was a crime against a human so you’re working with human law enforcement to see justice done.” 

“Werewolves don’t go to the police to get justice against other werewolves,” Peter said. He made it sound like the entire concept was distasteful. 

“But humans do,” Stiles’ dad said. “He’s right. Stiles and I can call for assault charges against the attackers, even if they’re werewolves. Stiles may have been chosen, but he’s still human and that means that human law is in effect.” 

“The pack will look weak if we let the human police do our work for us,” Peter said. 

“You’ll look weak if you get slaughtered,” Stiles said. 

“He’s got a point,” Derek said. 

“And you’re not letting humans do all the work,” Stiles continued. “It’s humans and werewolves working together. You said you picked me because that would give your pack a connection to the sheriff’s department. So use it. Make that your strength.” 

Stiles’ head and chest were throbbing now. He closed his eyes and tried to push the pain aside for a minute, but then Derek was there, at his side, hand in his. 

“Stiles, are you alright?” he asked. 

“Sore,” Stiles said. “Thinking’s hard work.” 

“OK. Well you let us think for a bit. You just rest.” 

There was a strange sensation in his hand, where it touched Derek’s. It was like a warm liquid flowing up his limb, puddling in his chest. Everywhere that warmth touch, the pain seemed to fade. It was slipping out of him, soreness easing with each moment. He hadn’t really be aware of how much he’d been hurting until it was gone. 

“Oh,” he said, that surprised syllable all he could manage. 

“Rest,” Derek said. Stiles felt a kiss against his forehead and he let himself sink back into the pillows. 

***

The next time Stiles woke, the room was quieter. Derek and Scott were taking up the chairs, but everyone else was gone. Stiles wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but there was a tray on his bedside table with some food on and his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in a long while. The others noticed him moving and were quickly alert, standing beside the bed. 

“How are you feeling?” Scott asked. 

“Hungry.” 

They helped him to sit up. His body protested to the move, chest and legs throbbing where the claws had slashed him. But soon he was propped up on the bed, the tray balanced on his lap. Derek sat on the edge of the bed, a hand on the corner of the tray to keep it steady. Stiles wanted to protest that he didn’t need them to do everything for him, but he knew if he did that, he’d probably end up dumping the tray all over himself. 

So he ate the reheated stew and rubbery mashed potatoes, grateful for the food but thinking that he could do a million times better. To follow, there was a bowl of fruit salad that had clearly come out of a can, but he was hungry enough to eat it without comment. 

“Where’s Dad?” he asked when he’d finished. 

“With Peter and the rest of the pack,” Derek said. 

“And about half of the Beacon Hills police force,” Scott added. 

“He’s gone to arrest the twins for assault,” Derek finished. 

“Do you think he’ll be OK?” Stiles asked. 

Derek took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I doubt even Deucalion would take on a human police force. It would bring the whole weight of human authority down on his pack.” 

“But what will Deucalion do?” 

“That is a very good question. Probably claim that Peter is out of line for involving humans, accuse him of cowardice and try to incite a challenge that way.” 

“But why does he want to fight so badly anyway?” 

“Because he’s an asshole?” Derek suggested. 

“There’s got to be more to it than that. I mean, yeah, there are people that go out and pick fights with people just for the sake of fighting, but this is an awful lot of effort to go to just to have a fight. Think about it, the twins were on me basically as soon as I was alone, the first time I’ve been away from the pack since this began. It would be a huge coincidence for them to stumble across me right then, which means that they’ve probably been watching, waiting for an opportunity.” 

That thought hadn’t occurred to him until now, which was probably something to do with the drugs. Now that he considered it, it was seriously disturbing. He hated the idea that a werewolf pack had been watching, spying, waiting for him to be vulnerable. 

“If there were other werewolves watching the house, we would have picked up their scents,” Derek said. 

“Maybe they’ve hired humans to spy for them,” Stiles said. “You get joggers and hikers through those woods, so you wouldn’t pick up on a human scent as a threat and they could have been keeping an eye. Or maybe they’ve rigged up spy cameras or something to track you coming and going. All I know is that it would have been epically bad luck for the twins to have found me right then if they weren’t watching and planning something like this.” 

There was silence, presumably while Scott and Derek let the implications of that sink in. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. 

“Huh?” Stiles asked. Maybe his brain was still drug-addled because he didn’t understand what Derek was apologising for. 

“It’s my fault you were there alone,” he said. “If I hadn’t told you to get out, you would have been safe.” 

“OK, that’s stupid. You might as well blame Cora for not dropping me off back at the house before going in to work, or Cora’s co-worker for not showing up and meaning that Cora had to go in, or Peter for not being quicker to get there. Or me, for that matter, for not deciding to go hang out with Scott when Cora said she had to work. Blame the twins.” 

“But…” Derek started. 

“Don’t make me argue with you. I’m injured. I shouldn’t be arguing. You should just agree with everything I say.” 

Scott gave a little snort of laughter. Even Derek managed an amused smile. 

“Alright,” Derek said. “You’re right about everything. But only when you’re injured.” 

He leaned over the bed and kissed Stiles’ forehead. 

“That all I get?” Stiles asked. 

Derek leaned in again and kissed him on the lips this time. Then he went across the room to where a bag rested against the wall. He picked it up. 

“I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up or how much you’d be up for, but I thought you might want to watch a movie. Scott says you like the Marvel movies and I’ve not seen this one.” 

Derek pulled out a laptop and a DVD case. Stiles had seen the movie when it had been in the cinema, but he wouldn’t object to seeing it again. Scott clearly had other opinions. He gave a groan. 

“He’ll be singing Hooked On A Feeling for a week if you let him watch that,” Scott warned Derek. 

“It’s a good song,” Stiles said. 

“Not when you sing it.” 

“You’re supposed to be nice to me. I’m injured.” 

“I’ve known your singing ability was injured for a long time,” Scott said. 

“You’re mean.” 

Derek sorted out the laptop while Scott and Stiles argued. They ended up in a little cluster on the bed, Derek sitting one side of him, Scott the other. They balanced the laptop on the lunch tray on Stiles’ legs. 

It was probably a good job they were watching a movie he’d seen before, because his mind was more unfocused than usual, maybe because of the painkillers. Still, he could enjoy this moment, pressed between two people who cared about him. If it weren’t for the stitched up gashes in his flesh, it would be wonderful. 

***

Stiles was twitchy and distracted through the movie. Derek wasn’t sure if it was because of pain, the pain medication, or the fact that Stiles hadn’t taken his usual medication. He let it pass without saying anything because he didn’t think there’d be anything he could do in any case and he didn’t want to do anything to make Stiles feel awkward. 

Derek was a little distracted too, but that was mostly to do with the fact that he knew he’d have to have a conversation with Stiles at some point in the near future. He knew what Stiles had said when he’d woken up, about wanting there to be more to them than the ritual, but he wasn’t sure Stiles knew it. Stiles had been rather out of it when he’d first woken up. It was possible that Stiles hadn’t meant any of that, but Derek didn’t think so. Stiles had said he’d bought flowers. That had to mean something. 

So Derek was left unsure of what exactly he and Stiles were right now, but grateful that Stiles didn’t seem angry with him. Stiles was letting him be there beside him. Derek didn’t think he’d be able to cope right now if he were forced to stay away from Stiles. Much as he’d like to be with Peter taking on the twins, he knew he’d be too distracted in a fight worrying if anything was happening to Stiles. Not that anything seemed to be happening to Stiles. 

They had to pause the movie in the middle when a doctor can in to check on Stiles, looking at the stitched up injuries. Derek wanted to throw something through a wall when he saw those gashes, long lines cut through his torso, and a few others like the one across his thigh and the piercing holes left by claws clenching into his upper arm. The wounds weren’t deep, the doctor insisted, agreeing with the first assessment that had been given. The twins had wanted Stiles to bleed a lot, but they hadn’t been actively trying to kill him. 

Maybe this was the point, Derek thought as he sat down and started up the film again. Maybe Deucalion wanted the pack divided, with some of them guarding Stiles rather than fighting the other pack. It was a worrying thought, the idea that they might be playing directly into Deucalion’s hands, but he’d be damned if he was going to let it take him away from Stiles right now. 

They finished up the movie and Derek packed the laptop away again, while Stiles started taking about what they’d just seen. Even with his chest cut to ribbons, it didn’t seem Stiles was going to stop being Stiles. Derek smiled and let the words wash over him, hearing Stiles’ analysis of the characters. 

“And I don’t know why people use the pronoun ‘he’,” Stiles was saying now. “It’s obvious that Groot doesn’t subscribe to human gender norms because there was the bit where Rocket said to learn genders. And it’s not like most trees have males and females. So why does everyone use a male pronoun?” 

“Because they don’t want to call him ‘it’?” Scott suggested. He was still sitting on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Stiles. Somehow that didn’t stir up the feelings of jealousy it would have done a few days ago. 

“But why masculine? Why should male be the default? Why not use a gender neutral pronoun?” 

“Because we don’t really have one in English?” 

“We could use ‘they’,” Stiles said. “That’s being accepted more and more as a singular, gender-neutral pronoun. It would make a lot more sense that assuming that every species has to have a binary gender standard. It would also be really helpful for humans who don’t feel they fit in the standard binary model of genders that most people ascribe to.” 

“Is there anything you don’t get passionate about?” Derek asked. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but now Stiles turned to look at him, considering the question carefully. 

“Football,” he said eventually. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll watch a game. I’m just not that into it.” 

Derek could well believe that everything else on the planet was a subject of great interest to Stiles. 

Stiles shifted position on the bed. He winced, instantly going still. Scott was right there next to him, asking if he needed to call the doctor to get more painkillers. Stiles just looked at Derek. 

“Could you do whatever it was you did earlier?” Stiles asked. 

Derek gave a glance at Scott. It wasn’t common knowledge that werewolves could draw out pain, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. Derek didn’t think anyone would complain if Scott saw him do this. So he placed his hand on Stiles’ arm, skin to skin. He reached out with his power, feeling the pain that was there and draw it out. 

Derek felt it burning up through his arm, but he kept going. He watched Stiles’ face, seeing his eyes close and a relaxation wash over his features, wiping away the trace of pain tension that had been there since he woke. 

Scott was watching, seeing the dark lines flowing up Derek’s arm, studying Derek’s face even as Derek studied Stiles’. 

“What are you doing?” Scott asked. 

“Drawing out his pain.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“A bit,” Derek said. 

“Stop,” Stiles said quickly. “I don’t want you to be hurt.” 

He tried to pull his arm away, but Derek kept his grip firm, kept pulling on the pain. 

“Derek, stop,” Stiles said. 

“It’s OK,” Derek said. “For me, the pain is only when I’m doing this, but the relief for you will last a while afterwards. It’s a good trade.” 

“I don’t want you in pain because of me,” Stiles said. 

“You’re in pain because of me,” Derek said. 

Stiles tugged his arm again and this time Derek let him do it. He released his grip. He’d done about all he could for now anyway. Stiles glared at him from the bed. 

“Scott, slap him,” Stiles said. 

“What?” Scott asked. 

“We had this conversation already,” Stiles said to Derek. “You are not to blame yourself for this. The twins hurt me. Not you. If you start blaming yourself, I reserve the right to hit you upside the head. Now remember, you’re not allowed to argue with me. I’m right.” 

Derek suspected he was going to regret agreeing that Stiles was always right while injured. Before the argument could go further, he heard footsteps approaching. A moment later, the door opened and Cora came in holding a metal tin. 

“What happened?” Derek asked. “Is everything OK?” 

“Everything is more than OK. Plus, I have cookies. Someone left these spaceships lying around the kitchen and it would be a shame for them to go to waste.” 

“What about Deucalion?” Derek asked, ignoring the proffered tin of TIE fighter cookies. 

“And my dad?” Stiles added. He did reach out for a cookie though. 

“Your dad is at the station questioning the twins. We went with your plan. Peter made a statement to the press about this attack by a werewolf in his territory, saying that he was cooperating with the human authorities as it was a crime against a human. Then we went after Deucalion’s pack with a lot of your dad’s deputies. Deucalion wasn’t even trying to hide where he was; you’re probably right that he was waiting for us for a fight. But your dad led the show and went in there saying he wanted to arrest the twins for assault. Deucalion made some comment about Peter being a coward to hide behind a sheriff’s badge and then Peter said that an attack on an innocent child was far more cowardly and he basically called Deucalion weak to his face and asked whether the twins have the self-control of newly turned teenagers. Then, of course, Isaac piped up and said that he was a newly turned teenager and that he’d never attacked anyone, which just made Deucalion angrier, but he couldn’t do anything with all the cops there so he just let your dad take the twins away.” 

Cora seemed excited by what had happened, but Derek wasn’t keen on the idea of Deucalion being angry with them. He’d already sent his pack to hurt Stiles before anyone had made a move against him. Now, he would have a reason to attack them. 

“So what now?” Stiles asked. 

“I guess that depends on what happens with the twins at the sheriff’s station.” 

***

Stiles was asleep again by the time the sheriff returned to the hospital. Derek was standing in the corner, watching over him while Scott dozed in one chair and Cora dozed in the other. Cora was awake the instant the door opened, but Scott stayed asleep, so the sheriff beckoned the two werewolves out into the hall where they wouldn’t disturb the slumbering humans. 

“The twins are going with the story we thought they would,” the sheriff said. “They claim that they knew Stiles was rebellious and that, when they saw him at the store, they believed he was running away, and that under werewolf law, they were within their rights to stop him and punish him.” 

Which was a load of bullshit. Technically, if Stiles had been running away, the twins could have stepped in to help capture him and no one would have argued if there was some bruising or a few scrapes. But the twins hadn’t captured Stiles. They hadn’t delivered him to the Hale pack. They’d just left him to be found or die, whichever came first. Any prosecutor with an ounce of common sense would pick their story apart in an instant. 

“They’re also claiming that this is a werewolf matter because Stiles is under the authority of you guys for this month. They say that Peter shouldn’t have involved the police.” 

“I take it you reminded them that assaulting an unarmed human is a crime?” Derek said. 

“That I did. I don’t think they were happy about it.” 

“Well, at least if Deucalion decides to attack the pack, we outnumber them two to one now.” 

“Maybe,” the sheriff said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s a bail hearing tomorrow. The DA is going to push for them to remain in jail, but there aren’t many facilities capable of holding two adult werewolves, so the judge might release them on bail anyway. If that happens, we’ll push to get a restraining order for them to keep away from Stiles, but I doubt we’d be able to get a restraining order against the whole pack and certainly we can’t get one to stop the pack coming after the rest of you guys.” 

“So this time tomorrow, it’s quite likely that the twins will be out and angry,” said Cora. 

“Quite likely,” the sheriff said. 

The likelihood of more danger didn’t come as a surprise to Derek. Deucalion’s pack had made their first move, but starting with violence like this would mean things were likely to escalate quickly to more violence. Derek heard the sheriff’s warnings now and wished he’d listened to Peter earlier. Peter had warned that Deucalion was a threat and Derek had dismissed it. Now Stiles was hurt and this was bound to end up in a fight between the packs.


	16. Day Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even with my slightly slower than usual posting, my posted chapters have just about caught up with where I've written. This means that posting will slow down even further, but I'll still try to make a couple of posts a week.

Stiles was discharged from the hospital with extra painkillers, a load of spare dressing for his wounds and instructions to come back to get the stitches out in a couple of weeks. He was ready to get out of the hospital room, even though Derek and Scott had done their best to keep him occupied. He just hated hospitals. 

His dad was there to see that everything went smoothly, but it was Derek who signed the paperwork since, for the next couple of weeks still, he was officially Stiles’ guardian. Outside the hospital, Derek turned to Stiles’ dad. 

“We’ll make sure Stiles is safe,” Derek promised, “but if you want to come by at any time to see him, you’re welcome to.” 

Stiles’ dad nodded to Derek and then put his arms around Stiles in the gentlest hug he’d ever experienced in his life. It was like his dad was afraid he’d break if he squeezed too hard. Given the way his chest was feeling, that might be the case. 

“I’m OK,” Stiles whispered to his dad. 

“Be careful,” his dad whispered back. 

“We’ll take care of him,” Derek said. “I promise.” 

There was another little nod between the two of them. Stiles thought it was weird that the two of them seemed to have got over their antagonism. They’d probably bonded over being worried about him when he’d been unconscious in the hospital. Stiles probably should have been glad that his dad wasn’t looking like he planned to shoot Derek anymore, but it was still weird. 

A few minutes later, Stiles was tucked into the passenger seat of Derek’s car, heading away from the hospital and back towards the Hale house. 

“I guess there’s quite a lot we’ve got to talk about,” Derek said. 

“I guess,” Stiles said. 

Despite his words, Derek didn’t seem inclined to talk. Stiles remembered all the stuff Cora had said about Derek not being the one to make the first move. 

“I like you,” Stiles said. “And not just the sex, though that’s pretty awesome.” 

“And out of the question until you heal,” Derek said. 

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing with relationships and stuff, but I’d like to make this work between us. If you want to, that is.” 

“When you said no to being part of the pack, I thought you meant that you didn’t want to stick around after the next full moon.” 

“I do want to stick around. I like spending time with you. But I still don’t want the bite.” 

Derek didn’t say anything right away and that left Stiles wondering if he’d said something wrong. 

“He could have bitten you,” Derek said quietly. “When he found you bleeding. He could have given you the bite then. But he waited for the ambulance.” 

“Wouldn’t he have got in trouble if he’d bitten me after I’d said no?” 

“Not any sort of trouble he’d care about. This month, you’re supposed to do anything the pack want of you. If the pack wants you to be a werewolf, you become a werewolf. Legally, no one would be able to do anything. Aside from the likelihood of your dad shooting him, there’s not much he’d worry about in that scenario.” 

All of which implied that Peter had actually cared about Stiles’ preferences. That was a little surprising but comforting at the same time. 

“We’ve got a bit off topic,” Stiles said. “We were talking about us.” 

“I like you,” Derek admitted, after another long pause. “But... I’m not good at this sort of thing.” 

“I know. Cora might have told me some of your deepest, darkest secrets.” Stiles saw the fear flicker on Derek’s face. “She told me about Paige.” 

“I’m going to kill her.” 

“Don’t. It helps. It helps me to understand you, why you’ve been acting the way you have around me. But if you like me, and I like you, then maybe it’s worth a shot. Third time’s the charm, right? And I promise not to set your family on fire.” 

To Stiles’ surprise, Derek gave a little laugh at that promise. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said, flashing a small smile in Stiles’ direction. 

It wasn’t a grand declaration of love. It wasn’t a promise of a bright future. But it was something, a little piece of hope that they might be able to build something here. In some ways, it was comforting that Derek was as hopeless at relationships as he was. Despite the low pain that was making it through the medication and the fear of what might come, Stiles let himself smile. 

***

The whole pack was waiting for them when they reached the house. To Derek’s astonishment, it was Peter who greeted Stiles first, but not with words. He reached out and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing gently. Then he nodded. It only lasted a moment before he stepped away, letting the rest of the pack get their hellos in. Cora gave Stiles a careful hug, while Boyd shook his hand with equal care. 

“We were going to bake you a cake,” Isaac said, “but didn’t think we’d do as good a job of it as you would.” 

“Are you saying I have to bake my own ‘congratulations on not being dead’ cake?” Stiles asked. 

“I’m sure there’s some flour and stuff in the kitchen,” Isaac said. “We can wait.” 

Derek elbowed Isaac out of the way and led Stiles through into the den. He was supposed to be resting. He made sure Stiles was sitting comfortably on the couch and then went into the kitchen to get drinks for everyone. When he returned, they were all taking seats around the room, but they’d left the space on the couch next to Stiles. Derek sat down in it and Stiles leaned sideways, resting against Derek’s side. 

Peter was sitting in one of the arm chairs, making it look like he was a king sitting on a throne. He let his eyes roamed over the group gathered in front of him and Derek was reminded of the way his eyes would sweep across a chess board to take in the pieces in play. 

“We have a problem,” Peter said. “Deucalion will not let this slide. He will probably see us involving the police as a personal insult.” 

“We could attack them now,” Derek said. “The twins are still custody. We outnumber them.” 

“Predictable,” Peter said. 

“Well I’m sorry, we’re not all master strategists.” Derek responded to the insult automatically. He was used to Peter dismissing his ideas but this time it grated more, because he wanted to come up with something that would help. He wanted to get back at the other pack for what they’d done to Stiles. 

Peter responded calmly, “Deucalion will expect a counter attack and now is the obvious time because of the numbers. He will be ready for any attack. And if we go in force, he might have something else planned. They are all alphas, don’t forget that, and Deucalion stronger by far than an ordinary alpha. I’m sure Deucalion and, let’s say, Ennis could hold us off for a while, while Kali creeps into our territory and makes a point about our weakness.” 

Peter gave Stiles a significant look. He was right. Stiles was vulnerable right now. But they couldn’t afford to leave someone here to protect him or they’d lose all their advantage of numbers. They could take Stiles to his dad to keep him safe while they attacked, but that plan wasn’t without its flaws too, and it would look like weakness if the pack had to rely on human involvement to protect someone they should be able to protect. 

“We could take on the twins,” Boyd said. “If they get let out, we go after them before they join up with the rest of the pack.” 

“Except that Deucalion will probably be there to bail them out,” Peter said. “He’ll probably have the whole pack with him.” 

“There must be some other way to separate them,” said Isaac. 

There was a short pause while everyone thought about this, then Stiles said, “You’re all thinking like werewolves.” 

“We are werewolves,” Cora pointed out. 

“Yes, but so are they and you’re all thinking about this like it’s got to be a fight and it’s got to be all teeth and claws, but the problem is that they’re all alphas, which means they’ll be stronger so a head-to-head fight will end up with you ripped to pieces. It would be like a group of humans fighting you. If I were going to fight you, I wouldn’t just walk up and challenge you to a fist fight because I’d end up, well, like I am now. I’d borrow my dad’s gun and shoot you in the head. Well, not you you obviously. I’m not planning on shooting any of you.” 

“We get what you mean,” Cora said. 

“Right,” Stiles continued, “my point is that if I were to organise a fight against a group of werewolves, I’d want weapons. I’d want to be able to shoot from a distance where it doesn’t matter how strong they are.” 

Derek’s first instinct was to instantly shut Stiles down. Werewolves didn’t use weapons. It just wasn’t the way things were done. Challenges between individuals or packs were handled directly, with strength and power. To use guns, as Stiles was suggesting, felt almost like cheating. But maybe Stiles had a point. If Derek felt like this was an unthinkable choice, then maybe Deucalion wouldn’t have thought about it. 

“Is there any law against it?” Cora asked. 

“It would set a worrying precedent,” Peter said. “If one pack of werewolves is seen to solve matters by using guns,” he spoke the word with distaste, “then another might decide to take over a territory by sending someone in with a sniper rifle. I don’t think there’s any specific rule against it, but it might be seen as… cowardly.” 

Erica spoke up then, “What if we used guns to level the playing field at the start? Then we could go in and finish things the old fashioned way.” 

“That would be better,” said Peter. “We must be careful of how this will be perceived by other packs.” 

“Well I’m sure that if you go charging in there and get killed, you’ll be perceived as pretty damn stupid,” Stiles said. 

Derek wondered if Stiles even knew what he was saying sometimes. He would have put this down to the drugs, but he suspected Stiles would have said something like this anyway. 

“Does this mean we’re going to try shooting Deucalion’s pack?” Isaac asked. 

“So it would seem,” Peter said. “I think Stiles is right that Deucalion won’t be expecting it.” 

“Alright, but has anyone thought about how we’re going to get hold of a load of guns?” Isaac asked. 

There was silence. Derek had never considered buying guns before so it wasn’t something he knew much about, but weren’t there background checks and waiting periods? It would be useless if they went to a shop and were told they’d have to wait a week for paperwork to be checked. Also, a pack of werewolves buying guns was bound to draw attention and if it got back to Deucalion, then this would fail horribly. What they needed was an unofficial source of weapons. 

“I have an idea,” Derek said slowly. 

Everyone just looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Suddenly he felt very self-conscious. The moment he uttered his idea out loud, the others would shoot it down as ridiculous. He wished he hadn’t said anything at all. 

“Well?” Peter said. 

“There is someone in Beacon Hills who has a lot of guns,” Derek said. 

***

Derek hadn’t ever thought that breaking and entering would be a part of his life. Right now, he was regretting the decisions that had led to him attempting to steal from what was probably the most heavily armed household in the county. He had done many foolish things in his life, but this was probably the time when he’d been most aware of his foolishness ahead of time. At least he could be sure Deucalion wouldn’t expect this. No one in their right mind would expect this. 

Derek entered the property over the back fence and paused to listen carefully. There was no sign of movement from inside, which was a good sign. Presumably everyone was out. Still, Derek waited at the end of the garden for a minute, just to be sure. 

There was a back door that led in through a utility room. It took just a quick application of werewolf strength to break the lock and then Derek opened the door. He paused again, listening out for an alarm and a little surprised that none went off. When his ears continued to pick up nothing but silence, he made his way through to the garage. 

Racks and racks of weaponry were locked away behind metal grills. Whoever had put this in place though had banked against accidental access and human theft attempts. They clearly hadn’t planned on stopping werewolf strength. Derek was able to break the grating open with a little effort and then he had access to more guns than he knew what to do with. 

He’d brought a duffel bag with him and now he started loading it with supplies. A couple of shotguns. Half a dozen small handguns. Boxes of bullets. He stared at the boxes for a moment, unsure which sizes the guns needed, and then he just grabbed some of every size. There were bows and crossbows in one of the racks. Derek grabbed a couple of each along with a load of arrows. He knew from experience that arrows were seriously annoying in a fight. Bullets tended to go right through, at which point werewolf healing could take over, but arrows got caught inside. Probably harder to aim though. 

Derek shoved them into the bag, which was a little on the full side now, and dug in some draws beneath the racks of guns. He wasn’t sure what half of the electronic gizmos were, but there were a few items he recognised, mostly because they’d been used on him. He grabbed a handful of the little stun things which could fit on the end of arrows, and he dropped them in the bag with the rest of the stolen gear. 

It was good timing too, because he heard the sound of an approaching engine. He hefted the bag over one shoulder and started towards the back door again. 

Light flared and a huge bang assailed his ears. Derek stumbled, suddenly blind, all sense of balance vanished. For a moment, he thought he’d accidentally set off one of the arrow-topping stunners he was stealing, but when his vision cleared, the garage door was raised and Chris Argent stood there, aiming a gun at Derek’s head. 

Derek’s ears were still ringing from the noise earlier, but he could hear enough to recognise when Argent calmly said, “Derek.” 

“Chris,” Derek replied. He was slightly surprised that he didn’t already have a bullet hole in his head. 

“When I got the alert that someone was breaking in, I have to admit, I didn’t expect you.” 

Of course. That was why Derek hadn’t heard an alarm. The Argents must have some sort of silent security system, sending them the information that a break in was in progress without alerting the intruder. He was stupid not to have thought of that. Then, when he’d got close enough, Argent had triggered the stun grenade to catch him off guard. 

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Derek said. The gun hadn’t lowered an inch, but Chris still hadn’t fired. Derek wondered whether, if he ran, he could make it to the back door without getting a bullet somewhere that wouldn’t heal. 

“You know,” Argent said, “no jury would convict me if I were to shoot you right now. A dangerous werewolf breaking into my house, armed as well,” He gestured at the bag Derek still held. “It’s a clear case of self-defence.” 

“So why haven’t you shot me?” Derek asked. He wondered if hanging around Stiles was destroying his sense of self-preservation. 

“Because I’m curious why a werewolf would want to steal a load of anti-werewolf weapons.” 

There was no excuse that was going to get him out of here in one piece, but the truth just might. Chris Argent was smart enough to see an opportunity, and he knew which werewolf was the biggest threat. 

“We’re going to take on Deucalion’s alpha pack,” Derek said. “Figured we could use something to level the playing field.” 

There was a moment of stunned silence. The gun was still fixed on Derek’s head. 

“You’re planning on fighting Deucalion?” Argent asked. 

“He sent the twins to hurt Stiles.” 

Argent seemed almost amused at that, “A werewolf pack defending a human boy? Are you doing this out of the goodness of your hearts or because he’s your personal play thing and you don’t like other people touching your toys?” 

“Does it matter? You want Deucalion dead more than we do.” 

“So you think it’s OK to come here and steal my guns?” 

Derek shrugged, “Your family killed my pack and destroyed our house with all of our belongings in it, so I figure a few guns is a small price to pay.” 

Argent gave a little sigh and said, “We didn’t do that. The fire was an accident.” 

He sounded like he actually believed it, which caused rage to soar inside Derek. Only the fact that there was still a gun trained on his forehead kept him from doing something really stupid. Even so, he couldn’t resist snapping, “Does denial help you sleep at night?” 

“We follow a code. We only hunt those who are dangerous.” 

Derek decided that this wasn’t the time to point out that Argent had basically threatened to shoot him less than five minutes ago. 

Instead, he said, “Tell that to your sister.” 

“My sister is missing, presumed dead.” 

“And here I am without any champagne,” Derek said. He’d heard Peter’s comments about Kate, so he knew she was dead, but there was no point in letting Argent know that. So he smiled at this, like he’d just been given pleasant news. 

“I should kill you where you stand,” Argent said. 

“I wonder if that’s what she was thinking when she tricked me into letting her into the house so that she could rig our electrics to start a fire. Whether you kill me or not, don’t pretend that your family’s hands are clean. Your sister murdered innocent children. If we were animals, we’d come here and kill your innocent child in revenge.” Derek saw Argent’s finger twitch over the trigger and he continued, “But we’re more civilised than you are. All I’m asking for is a few guns so I can take out a bigger threat than my pack will ever be.” 

There was another moment of silence, then Argent lowered the gun, just a little. 

“There are high-powered tasers in that drawer over there,” Argent said. He gestured with his free hand. Derek hesitated a moment, unsure if he was about to get shot in the back with his hand in the Argents’ stuff so that they could make certain of their claims of robbery in progress when they reported this. Still, he went to the drawer and opened it, finding the devices Argent had talked about. Electricity and werewolves didn’t mix well, and these probably packed a lot more volts than the usual kind. He grabbed a couple and added them to the collection of stuff in the bag. 

When he turned back, Argent’s gun was hanging down at his side. 

“If you end up dead in all this,” Argent said, “I’ll be the one breaking open the champagne.” 

“I guess I’ll have to try not to die then, just to disappoint you.” 

And with that, Derek walked out, the bag of weapons over one shoulder. 

***

“Does this pack have an Emissary?” Stiles asked from his seat on the couch. Erica, who was sitting on in one of the arm chairs sketching layouts of what they’d seen of Deucalion’s home, looked up at Stiles in confusion. 

“What the hell’s an Emissary?” she asked. 

“I guess that’s a no then.” 

Stiles had come across the word once or twice before but not really thought anything of it, assuming that it just meant that the werewolves occasionally sent a messenger to talk to rival packs rather than risk going themselves. But this book used the word, always capitalised, like it was some important title or rank. It talked about how the Emissaries had negotiated the terms of the treaties, speaking on behalf of the alphas. The problem was, the author of the book seemed to assume that everyone knew what they were, and hadn’t bothered to define the role any more than he’d defined what a werewolf was. 

Cora poked her head into the den and asked, “Why are you talking about Emissaries?” 

“What the hell is an Emissary?” Erica repeated. 

“The book mentions them,” Stiles said. “It makes them sound like they’re some special rank in the pack or something.” 

“An Emissary isn’t part of the pack,” Cora said. 

“What the _hell_ is an Emissary?” Erica asked again, getting more frustrated. 

“Emissaries are humans,” Cora said, “who are aligned with werewolf packs. They offer advice and guidance and under some circumstances can speak on behalf of the alpha. That’s where they get their name. An Emissary acting for the pack in negotiations is deemed to have the authority of the alpha. They’re the alpha’s voice.” 

“Does the Hale pack have one?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes, but I don’t know who it is. I don’t think Derek does either.” 

“That makes no sense,” Stiles said. How could a person speak on behalf of the alpha of the pack but have the members of the pack not know they existed? 

“It’s for protection,” Cora said. “Emissaries have a lot of skill and knowledge but they’re usually not fighters. If no one knows who the Emissary is, then enemies don’t know who to target. An Emissary only makes themselves known if they’re speaking for the alpha.” 

“Then how the hell do you know they’re really the Emissary? I could walk up to you and say, ‘Hi, by the way I’m your Emissary,’ and you wouldn’t know whether to trust me.” 

There was the werewolf lie detector thing, where they could listen to a person’s heartbeat and see if they were sweating and stuff, but that wasn’t fool proof. A person with enough practice could lie to a werewolf’s face. So it seemed the height of stupidity that the person who was supposed to have such authority should be kept a secret. 

“Emissaries have ways of proving that they’re Emissaries,” Cora said. “They have knowledge of magic and there’s a particular spell which only Emissaries are taught.” 

“But what if Deucalion’s Emissary walked up here and said, ‘by the way, I’m your Emissary,’ and did this spell?” 

“Peter would know,” Cora said. “And the Emissary would be expected to have knowledge of the pack that an outsider wouldn’t have.” 

“Still seems like a huge risk. I mean, what if Peter gets his throat slashed in the fight against Deucalion?” 

“Derek would throw a party,” came a voice from behind him. Stiles jumped a little. Peter walked into the room. Stiles wasn’t sure how much of that he’d been listening to but he was looking at Stiles with a firm look now. Stiles was rather more distracted though by the fact that he held a crossbow in his hand. 

“Why are you asking about Emissaries?” Peter asked, walking fully into the room. 

“I’m trying to understand,” Stiles answered. 

“The identity of the Emissary is my business,” Peter said. “When the time is right, he will decide to introduce himself to Derek. Until then, no one needs to know who he is. Just forget about it.” 

“Just forget about the fact that there’s a wizard with a secret identity walking about Beacon Hills somewhere?” 

“Druid,” Peter corrected. “Not wizard: druid.” 

Stiles should let it go. There was a werewolf with a crossbow standing over him telling him to leave the subject alone, so the sensible thing would be to leave it alone. But there were still so many questions burning in his mind. 

“How does a person become an Emissary?” Stiles asked. 

“You thinking about applying?” Peter asked. “Forget it. Emissaries choose their own apprentices. The pack has no say.” 

“But if they work for you, surely you should get an opinion.” 

“Emissaries work with the alpha but they don’t work _for_ us. As our Emissary is forever reminding me. Now forget about it.” 

Stiles decided to leave the subject for now. He fell silent. He could do some digging on the internet when Peter wasn’t here. Secret or not, there was bound to be some information out there somewhere. 

Instead, he asked, “Why have you got a crossbow?” 

“It was Kate’s. I kept it as a memento.” 

He held it out towards Stiles. It was obvious that he expected Stiles to take it, but Stiles just stared, a little confused and more than a little concerned. That was a lethal weapon Peter was holding. Admittedly, there wasn’t a bolt loaded into it so there wasn’t much harm Stiles could do with it, but still Stiles was worried about the idea of handling something that could kill someone. He reached out slowly and took the crossbow, holding it gently, as though it might explode in his hands. 

“Is this for me?” Stiles asked. 

“You will need some way to defend yourself if Deucalion’s pack come after you again.” 

“I’m sure I will have much more success hitting them with an unloaded crossbow,” Stiles said. 

Peter glared. 

“We will get you some ammunition.” 

Stiles knew he ought to be grateful for such a gift. A weapon he could use if he got attacked by werewolves again was definitely a useful thing to own. But he was still somewhat terrified of the idea of actually having a weapon like this. He was more likely to shoot himself in the foot than to actually hit an attacking werewolf. 

Still, he said, “Thanks.” 

He set the crossbow down on the coffee table and went back to trying to distract himself from his nerves. He read the same paragraph of his book about three times and then looked up at Peter, who was looking over Erica’s drawings and making amendments. 

“Can anyone learn magic?” he asked. 

Peter sighed, “Stiles.” 

“What? I’m not asking about being an Emissary. I’m wondering if the two are intrinsically linked. I mean, you said they have magic, but surely they’re not the only ones that have magic.” 

“Much of what people consider magic is simply knowledge which is beyond them,” Peter said. “The druids have skills in herb lore and such subjects that anyone could learn given enough information. But there is something else to it, a spark, as it were, of magic that some people possess.” 

“And you have no idea if I have that spark,” Stiles said. 

Stiles supposed it would be too easy to have a simple test for whether or not he was magical. He hadn’t shrunk any sweaters or made any glass vanish so he guessed he wouldn’t be expecting a Hogwarts letter any time soon. 

He let the others get back to their attack preparations and he got back to trying to distract himself. Surely Derek ought to be back by now. Stiles attempted to read a little further into the book, but the archaic language and his usual lack of focus made it a challenge. He gave up when he realised he’d read an entire page and not taken in a word of it. 

He set the book aside and reached for the crossbow, inspecting the mechanism and working out how he would load it, aiming it at the wall and pulling the trigger, watching what happened. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” asked Derek’s voice from the doorway. Stiles turned, nearly dropping the crossbow. Derek stood there, a bag slung over one shoulder. 

Stiles wanted to rush over there and grab Derek, kissing and touching him relief at seeing him alive. But anything so dramatic would likely rip his stiches and Mrs McCall had been quite clear about him not doing that. Instead, he just set the crossbow down and said, “Peter.” 

Derek turned a questioning glare at Peter, who said, “Kate.” 

Derek nodded and then dumped the bag on the coffee table with a very loud thump. He opened it up and Stiles stared at the mess of weaponry inside. 

“Did you rob a gun shop?” Stiles asked. 

“Not exactly.” 

“Did you have any trouble?” Peter asked. 

“He threatened to kill me but then he told me where he kept his tasers, so I consider that a success,” Derek said. 

Stiles looked at him in shock, wondering how anyone could be so calm when uttering the words, ‘He threatened to kill me.’ Stiles was going through the weapon bag. He spotted a little grey thing like a metal egg. He picked it out from between guns and boxes of bullets, staring at it in confusion. 

“Careful with that,” Derek said, snatching it out of his fingers. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked. 

“Some kind of stun thingy,” Derek said. “Makes a big flash and leaves you blind for a few seconds.” 

“It’s called a flashbang,” Stiles said. “It’s a form of stun grenade.” 

“Well these are designed to be shot. I’ve already had to deal with one today so I’m quite happy if you just don’t touch anything.” 

The rest of the pack had gathered now. Those who had been scattered through the house were back, waiting in the den. 

“Are we ready?” Isaac asked. “Does this mean we’re going after the alpha pack now?” 

Peter picked a shotgun out of the bag, looking at it with a thoughtful smile. 

“I think we’re ready,” he said.


	17. Day Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a busy day. :) 
> 
> I'm beginning to regret my choice of doing this story day by day.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Isaac said. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, while Stiles stood at the counter and kneaded dough for bread. Admittedly, bread wasn’t the most sensible thing to try cooking when he was injured, but he felt the need for something to pound. 

“I can’t just sit still and wait,” Stiles said. 

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Isaac said. 

Stiles continued to knead the dough and stare out of the kitchen window at the dark woods. He felt utterly exhausted, but there was no way he could sleep now, with thoughts and fears racing through him. At some point, the clock had ticked past midnight and there was still no sign of the pack. What if they were already dead? What if the plan had fallen to pieces and Deucalion had torn Derek and the others to shreds? 

Isaac paced a little around the table and then asked, “Can I do anything?” 

“You regretting being left behind?” 

“I can’t say I mind not being in a fight to the death against a pack where everyone is more powerful than me, but I hate feeling so helpless.” 

“I see your helplessness and raise you enough stitches to start a sewing circle,” Stiles said. 

Peter had decided that Stiles needed a bodyguard. He wanted one of the pack to stay behind just in case anything went wrong and the alpha pack sent someone here. He’d insisted that Derek and Cora be with him though, since this was a matter for the Hale pack and they were the actual Hales. Which meant one of the other three had to stay behind, and neither Erica nor Boyd wanted the other going into battle without them, which left Isaac as the odd one out. 

“I’m just…” Isaac started. “It feels like they’ve been gone hours.” 

Stiles glanced at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. They had been gone hours. That could mean that Peter was being careful or that they had to wait until Deucalion’s pack were in the right place before starting anything. Or it could mean that the entire pack were currently bleeding to death at the hands of the alphas. 

He went back to pummelling his bread. 

“I didn’t know that becoming a werewolf would be like this,” Isaac said. 

“Do you regret it?” 

“No!” The word was instantaneous. “No, this is better. It’s just complicated.” 

“Yeah, most teenagers don’t have to worry about fights to the death against rival packs.” 

“Maybe it won’t be to the death,” Isaac said. “Maybe Peter and the others will drive them away.” 

“Because I’m sure that the guy who went to all this trouble and set up an attack will just cheerfully go, ‘OK, yeah, you beat me,’ and walk away if he loses a fight,” Stiles said. 

He still didn’t get why Deucalion was here. He was making a big show out of his presence, invading someone else’s territory in a deliberate affront and trying to start something. Attacking Stiles had been a major move, committing himself to this conflict. But why? Was it because the Hales had nice territory? Or was there something else going on. Stiles couldn’t quite believe it was a territory issue, because Deucalion had absorbed multiple territories when forming his alpha pack, so now his pack controlled a huge area. Why would he care about Beacon Hills? 

“This whole thing...” Isaac started. Then he stopped. He was listening. 

“Are they back?” Stiles asked. 

“Somebody’s coming,” Isaac answered. He left the kitchen. Stiles wiped flour from his hands and followed, stopping at the front door while Isaac ran out to the returning cars. 

Stiles had a few seconds to feel relief, to see that the members of the pack were back safe and sound. Then Cora and Peter helped Derek out from the back seat of Peter’s car. 

“Oh god,” Stiles muttered, because it looked like Derek had been torn to ribbons. His clothes hung off him, blood-stained and torn, exposing the skin below shredded just as much. Derek’s eyes were closed and he hung limply between the others, with no sign of the magical healing. 

“Is he dead?” Stiles asked. 

“Not quite,” Peter answered. 

“But he’s not healing.” 

Stiles moved aside so that they could carry Derek into the house. Erica and Boyd were coming into the house behind them. Everyone looked battered and blood-smeared, but no one was in the same condition as Derek. Stiles hurried into the den to see Peter gently lowering Derek onto the couch. 

“Wounds from an alpha take longer to heal,” Peter said. 

“So he’ll be OK then?” Stiles asked. 

The silence was the most painful answer he could have received. It spoke volumes of uncertainty. 

“I know a nurse,” Stiles said. “Scott’s mom. Maybe she could come and help.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” said Peter. 

“But Derek...” 

“Derek will heal or he won’t. By the time your nurse could get here, we’d know either way.” 

“Then why did you bring him back here? Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?” 

The others looked at him like that idea had never even occurred. Right then, Stiles almost hated them for being so useless. Injuries were such an unknown thing to them that the idea of the hospital hadn’t come up, even though they’d been there with him only the other day. 

Maybe Peter saw something of this in Stiles face, because he said, “We wanted to get him back to our property, to the heart of our territory.” 

“At least tell me that we’re not about to be under siege from an angry pack of alphas,” Stiles said. 

“I think they’ll have enough problems to deal with for the time being,” Cora said. She was standing by the end of the couch, fingers just touching Derek’s shoulder as he lay there unconscious. 

Stiles knelt by the couch and took Derek’s arm, feeling at the wrist for the flutter of a pulse. As still as he was, Derek was definitely alive. The wounds were still oozing blood out onto the couch, but Stiles didn’t know how much blood had already been lost. 

“Someone get me fruit juice and a load of strips of cloth,” Stiles said. When no one moved, he just glared, and Isaac and Erica ran off to obey. Moments later, Stiles was wrapping strips of torn sheets around the worst of the wounds, while Cora tipped the juice carefully, a sip at a time, into Derek’s mouth, to try and replace some of the lost fluid. 

“How do you know what to do?” Peter asked, as Stiles bandaged up a gaping wound in Derek’s thigh that was bleeding a hell of a lot. There might have been a nicked artery in there or something. Stiles wasn’t being at all neat about the bandaging, or worrying about getting the clothes out of the way first. It wasn’t like any of this needed to last long, just long enough for Derek to start healing on his own. 

“I don’t,” Stiles said. “I’m making this up as I go along.” He didn’t add, though he was tempted to, that he thought it was perfectly obvious that when someone was bleeding, the thing to do was to stop them bleeding. Even werewolves didn’t have an infinite amount of blood to lose. 

The rest of the pack were standing around, watching helplessly, staring at Stiles like he was working some miracle. Stiles thought of his own injuries. Derek wasn’t likely to need the medication to prevent infections, or the heavy duty doses of painkillers, but there were a few simple things that he would need. 

“In the kitchen,” Stiles said, “in the cupboard over the stove, there’s a bottle of liquid stock. Add about a tea spoon to a mug of hot water. It’ll make a sort of thin soup. Go!” 

Boyd rushed off to obey. 

“He’s lost of a lot of blood,” Stiles said. “He’ll need to replace the lost fluid and he’ll need stuff to get his energy levels up.” 

He was just making this stuff up, but it was all common sense. At least, it was common sense to someone who didn’t instantly heal every wound ever received. When he was no longer so worried about Derek, he could focus on how utterly useless the wolves were with an injured person. 

While Stiles wrapped cloth around a series of claw marks on Derek’s arm, Derek moved. There was a collective gasp from the watching wolves, a drawing in of worried breaths. The arm moved in Stiles’ grip and Derek’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at Stiles in confusion. 

“Hi,” Stiles said. 

“Hi,” Derek murmured. 

“I know you like me, but you don’t have to try and look like me,” Stiles said, and gestured at his chest, where his own injuries were concealed by his clothes. Derek managed a smile at even that weak joke. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Stopping you bleeding to death because your family are utterly hopeless,” Stiles said. Boyd arrived back in the room then, mug in his hand. Stiles helped Derek sit up a little so he could drink the stock mixture. 

He was healing now, visibly. There were scrapes and minor cuts that Stiles hadn’t bothered to bandage and now he could see them fading away, redness receding and leaving flawless skin. Stiles could practically feel the relief of the others in the room. 

Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder. Peter was there beside him. Peter gave him a serious nod, and said quietly, “Thank you.” 

***

Derek woke and, for a moment, wondered why he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the den. Then the smell of his own blood hit him and he remembered everything. He remembered the fight, the way they’d started with the weapons to slow the alphas down, and then moved in with claws and fangs to fight as werewolves were supposed to fight. He remembered getting into a fight with Ennis, the pain from the big werewolf’s claws tearing into him. He didn’t remember getting out of there. 

He saw up slowly, feeling a stiff ache in his muscles. He looked with surprise at his limbs and torso, wrapped in strips of cloth now stained brown with dried blood. His wounds had healed now, but the sheer volume of cloth wrapped around him showed how bad they must have been. 

“Hey,” a voice said, softly. Across the room, Stiles was tucked up in an armchair. He’d been sleeping, but he woke now to Derek’s movements. 

“You shouldn’t be sleeping like that,” Derek said. “You’re injured.” 

“So were you, and I wasn’t going to leave you alone. Your pack are hopeless when it comes to dealing with injuries.” 

Stiles must have been the one to keep him alive when injuries caused by an alpha were on the verge of killing him. Derek crossed to the armchair and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. 

“Thank you,” Derek said. “Now get some real sleep. I need a shower.” 

Stiles stood, moving with more stiffness than Derek. He must be in pain from his injuries. Derek wanted to be annoyed with Stiles that he’d let himself get hurt like this, but Derek was too busy feeling grateful for all Stiles had done. Derek offered Stiles his arm to help him up the stairs. 

In the bathroom, Derek stripped off his ruined clothes and the blood-stained bandages. His skin was unarmed now, but still crusted with tried blood. Standing there, staring at himself in the mirror, it was clear how close Derek had come to death. He scrubbed the blood off under the shower, watching the water run pink. 

They couldn’t take on the alpha pack again. Not like this. While they’d used the weapons, they’d had the advantage, exactly as Stiles had said they would, but as soon as they got in close, they were doomed. The only way they could defeat the alphas was to fight them with human weapons, and that would be a disaster for the pack’s reputation. Peter was right that they couldn’t afford to let the other packs think they were cowardly or all those other packs who wanted their territory would target them and use this as an excuse. 

Derek hated that all this had become so complicated. When he was little, the pack had been strong with a great reputation and all of this had just been so irrelevant he’d never even thought about it. The privilege of power. Now the power was gone and the safety it had brought was gone with it. 

Stiles was drifting to sleep in the big bed, so Derek tried to be as quiet as possible as he retrieved clean clothes from his drawers. Unfortunately, someone else didn’t let that happen. His started ringing, startling Stiles awake. 

“Sorry,” Derek said to him, grabbing his phone, then demanded of the caller, “What?” 

“The werewolves are here,” a voice said. 

“Huh?” 

“This is Scott. I’m outside the animal clinic. The alpha werewolves just showed up here and demanded that Deaton take a look at one of their guys.” 

“Wait, Scott, slow down. Where did you say you were?” Derek said. Stiles was sitting up on the bed now, paying close attention. Derek put his phone on speaker so Stiles could listen. 

“I work at Deaton’s animal clinic. The werewolves arrived a few minutes ago. Deaton wasn’t going to let them in, but Ms Morrell was there and she persuaded him to take a look at one of their guys, the big guy. He was hurt pretty badly and they said they just wanted medical attention.” 

“Where are you?” Stiles asked. 

“Deaton sent me out as soon as he let the alphas in. I’m a couple of blocks away.” 

“Scott,” Stiles said, “stay the hell away from them, all of them. They’re dangerous.” 

“Were they all there?” Derek asked. 

“I don’t know,” said Scott. “There were the twins, the blind guy, a creepy woman with claws on her feet, and the injured one.” 

That was the pack they’d fought last night. It was good to know that they were struggling as much as the Hale pack. And maybe now they were vulnerable. 

“Scott, thank you for this information,” Derek said. “Now Stiles is right. Get out of there. Stay safe.” 

He hung up the phone and looked at Stiles. 

“We need to talk to Peter and the others,” Derek said. 

***

It only took a few minutes to pass on Scott’s message. The pack were gathered in the den again, Stiles sitting beside Derek on the couch while Peter held court from an armchair. Stiles thought over Scott’s words, as well as the events of the past few days, trying to see the connections that had to be there. 

“Ms Morrell?” asked Isaac. “The French teacher? What the hell would she be doing there?” 

“She’s the alphas’ Emissary,” Stiles said. Eyes were fixed on him instantly and Stiles realised that he would once again have to try and explain leaps of logic that just sort of clicked in his mind. 

“She showed up at the hospital and talked to me, but Derek and my dad slept through the whole conversation, which I thought was weird at the time, particularly given werewolf healing, but I guess I was too out of it on the drugs to figure out that someone was really off. She talked to me about what the twins did and the way the alphas would position it. She didn’t say much of anything, but she did drop hints. Put it together with the fact that she’s the one at school who talks about anything to do with werewolves and pack traditions, and you’ve got someone who clearly has a lot of knowledge of werewolves. And now she’s trailing around with the alphas. She’s got to be the Emissary.” 

“You’re probably correct,” Peter said. 

“But why would the alphas take Ennis to the animal clinic?” asked Erica. 

“Well it doesn’t take a world-renowned surgeon to patch up a werewolf,” Stiles said, “as evidence by the fact I patched up Derek. They probably just wanted someone with basic medical skills and didn’t want the publicity of going to a hospital.” 

He hesitated. There was something about the way Peter wasn’t looking at him. Something else was going on. Stiles thought back, considering who else werewolves might turn to for help when things got rough and there was one type of human who fit the bill, one with skills and knowledge to help an injured werewolf. 

“Oh no,” Stiles said. “Tell me he’s not.” 

“He is,” Peter said. 

“What?” asked Derek, looking between the two of them in confusion. 

“Deaton’s...” Stiles started. 

But Peter cut him off sharply: “Stiles!” 

“What?” asked Derek again. Peter glared at Stiles. 

“This is ridiculous,” Stiles said. “If Ms Morrell took the alphas there then presumably they know, so it’s stupid to keep it a secret from your own pack.” 

“Keep what a secret?” Derek demanded. Stiles wanted to answer, but Peter was still glaring at him. Stiles glared back with equal fierceness. 

“At this point, your pack know less than the alphas,” Stiles said. “Do you want that?” 

Peter glared a little longer, but then sighed, and said, “Fine.” 

“Deaton is the Hale pack’s Emissary,” Stiles said. 

Stiles was once again fixed in the confused and shocked eyes of the pack. Peter looked slightly impressed, but the others were clearly just bewildered. 

“How did you figure it out?” Peter asked. 

“That wasn’t the difficult bit,” Stiles answered. “What I can’t figure out is why Deaton would help them. I mean, I know you said that the Emissary doesn’t work for you but with you, but this would still seem like a betrayal. Unless maybe he knew Scott would call us and he’s setting the alphas up for an ambush.” 

“Perhaps,” Peter said. “Whether Deaton is setting them up for it or not, this is the perfect time for an ambush. The alpha pack are gathered in an area they don’t control and one of them is injured. I would be arranging an attack right now except that I know Deaton has defences around his clinic. We won’t be able to get in uninvited.” 

“What about a siege?” Boyd asked. “We could wait until they try to come out.” 

“That could work,” Peter said. “We could set a trap for them. What concerns me is that the clinic is very public. We don’t want to be seen waging war where any human could wander by and either get hurt in the crossfire or misunderstand and call in police or some such. And it would be easy for us to be seen using hunter weapons, which could get back to the other packs.” 

Stiles was still thinking, mind whirring through the information he’d just been given. Deaton had defences, but they were presumably defences against enemy werewolves. He’d been to the clinic a few times, visiting Scott while he was working late. He hadn’t been invited then and he certainly hadn’t seen any sign of magical defences. 

“Send me in,” he said. 

“Are you crazy?” Derek asked. “They already nearly killed you. Why would you want to go into the clinic where we can’t help you?” 

“I’m not suggesting I go in to fight them,” Stiles said. “But we still don’t really know what they’re after. I could go in and talk to them, try and get information. Maybe I can get them to let slip what this is really all about.” 

“And maybe they’ll finish the job of killing you,” said Derek. “No. There’s not a chance in hell of you going in there.” 

“No, this could work,” Peter said. “Stiles is unlikely to be considered a threat, especially in his current condition. No offence.” 

“No, that’s fair,” Stiles said. He didn’t feel particularly threatening right now. 

“If any of us were to go in, the alphas would attack us at once, but Stiles might be able to open a dialogue. Perhaps discuss a way for this to be resolved before any more bloodshed. You’re not the pack Emissary, but you can still speak on behalf of the pack.” 

“No,” Derek said. “This is too big of a risk. Stiles isn’t pack. He shouldn’t be putting his life on the line for us.” He was glaring at Peter, but his hand had reached out to take Stiles’. It was almost sweet how protective he was being. 

“Derek has a point,” Peter said. “You did refuse the offer of joining the pack. You don’t have to risk your life for us now.” 

“I said I didn’t want to be a werewolf,” Stiles said. “I’ll still do what I can to help with the alpha pack.” 

***

The pack took up places around the outside of the animal clinic, while Stiles walked straight towards the front door, wondering why the hell he agreed to these situations. He had one of the hunter flashbangs in his pocket, and strict instructions that he was to set it off and run if things got ugly inside. Otherwise, the pack would be waiting outside, using their enhanced hearing to listen to what happened between Stiles and the alphas. 

He ignored the closed sign on the door and walked straight in, seeing a cluster of werewolves and Ms Morrell waiting in the reception area. The twins were there, and a female werewolf. That must be Kali. She opened her mouth to reveal fangs when she saw Stiles. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“My invisible dog is looking a bit peaky, can’t you tell?” Stiles said, gesturing at the empty air beside his legs. Kali didn’t seem amused. 

“I came to talk to you,” Stiles said, more seriously. “More specifically, I came to talk to your boss.” 

“You are not the Emissary of the Hale pack,” Kali said. 

“No. I’m not.” 

“Then you have no authority to demand a meeting.” 

“I’m not demanding, I’m politely asking. Well, semi-politely, but given that the wonder twins over there sliced me open and left me to bleed to death, I think some sarcasm can be excused, don’t you?” 

“The wonder twins?” said one of the twins. Stiles shrugged. 

“Please may I speak to Deucalion,” Stiles said, forcing his tone to at least resemble politeness. 

“Send him through,” a voice called from within. Kali took a moment to bare her fangs again but Stiles stepped round her and passed behind the counter and into the back room where Deaton did most of his work. 

Deaton was there now, working on the large werewolf who Stiles had confronted during the choosing ceremony. An older man with blind-white eyes stood beside the table, but Stiles was focused on another detail of the scene. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of blood,” he muttered, fighting down the urge to vomit. Ennis looked worse than Derek had and he was surprised he’d managed to get through patching Derek up without throwing up over him. 

“You must be Stiles,” the blind guy said. Stiles dragged his eyes away from the bloody body on Deaton’s table. 

“Yes, that’s right. I take it you’re Deucalion.” 

Stiles hadn’t expected a blind guy. Somehow that little detail had slipped everyone’s mind when talking about the situation. 

“I’m surprised that the Hales would send someone like you,” Deucalion said. Stiles tried not to take that as an insult. After all, the reason he was here was because he wouldn’t seem like a threat to the werewolves. 

“It seemed like the best way to have a dialogue between the packs,” Stiles said. 

“If they wanted a dialogue, they shouldn’t have done this.” Deucalion gestured towards Ennis. For a moment, Stiles wondered how he knew the right direction to gesture, then guessed it was probably the blood smell working with werewolf senses. Or maybe he could hear Deaton at work. Deaton narrowed his eyes briefly at Stiles, then continued to stitch up Ennis’ injuries. 

“To be fair, Derek looked almost as bad a few hours ago,” Stiles said, “and your twins did attack first.” 

“They used hunter weapons,” Deucalion spoke the word with distaste. 

“And you guys attacked an innocent human. Nobody’s blameless here. But that’s no reason why this should continue to the death. You’ve made a point, the Hales have made a point. Everyone can just go home happy at this point. No one’s dead. There’s been a little maiming, a little mangling, but no deaths. I think that’s an important distinction. There’s no reason why this violence has to keep going.” 

“If Ennis dies,” said Deucalion, “then we shall have no choice but to seek retribution.” 

“Even though you started the fight?” 

“They attacked us. They ambushed us with human weapons. If one of my pack dies because of it, we will slaughter the Hales.” 

“Well, that shouldn’t be necessary,” Deaton said quietly. “His injuries were substantial, but I’ve managed to kick start his healing powers. Ennis should survive.” 

Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. 

Deucalion walked over to the table. He put a hand out and touched the metal surface, feeling along for Ennis’ body. He moved slowly around the table, hand feeling along Ennis’ bare chest, until his fingers found a deep wound over Ennis’ heart. A second later, he thrust his hand down, tearing open the stitches and reaching into Ennis’ chest. 

“Holy god!” Stiles yelled, leaping backwards. 

Deucalion pulled his hand out of Ennis’ chest, dripping with blood. 

“It’s possible that you were overly optimistic in your assessment, Dr Deaton.” 

Deaton moved away from Ennis’ now-dead body. He walked slowly, rounding the table, to where Stiles stood, eyes locked on that dripping and gory hand. Deucalion felt along the table to Ennis’ pants and then wiped the blood on his hand on their fabric. 

“Now it seems we will require vengeance,” Deucalion said. 

“You just...” Stiles couldn’t find the words to express the outrage and disgust he was feeling. “But he...He was one of your pack!” 

“And now he is dead and we will destroy the Hale pack. Perhaps I should finish what the twins started with you.” 

He turned towards Stiles, but those white eyes didn’t quite meet his face in a way that was slightly disconcerting. Deaton stepped in front of Stiles. He pulled a hand out of his pocket, fingers clenched into a fist around something. 

“You will not shed human blood in my clinic,” Deaton said. 

“You think you can stand against me, vet?” Deucalion asked. 

“I have rules. What you do to your own pack, I won’t interfere with, but you won’t hurt a human being in _my_ clinic. Leave.” 

Deaton’s voice was perfectly calm. Stiles didn’t understand how. Stiles’ heart was pounding, trying to escape his chest, and he felt the first stirrings of a panic attack. This was worse than when he’d faced the twins. Deucalion was utterly psychopathic. He’d killed one of his own pack to give him an excuse to go after the Hales and now he was going to start his pseudo-vengeance with Stiles. Stiles reached into his pocket for the flashbang, but he couldn’t run out past all of the alphas even if he managed to get past Deucalion. He should have brought more of these things. 

Deucalion moved fast, bringing his claws out towards Stiles’ face. There was a burst of blue light. 

Stiles blinked in confusion, wondering what the hell had just happened, not to mention why he still had eyes. Deaton stood there, hand outstretched, a few last grains of black dust falling down. There was now a ring of black powder around Stiles and Deaton. 

Deucalion reached out a hand again, slower this time, and a wall of blue energy shone around his fingertips when they tried to pass over the line. 

“Mountain ash,” Deucalion said. “An old technique. But a barrier isn’t impenetrable and it won’t protect the others.” 

***

Derek stood outside the clinic, still angry that Peter had allowed this plan to go ahead, angry that he hadn’t been able to think of something better so that Stiles wouldn’t be putting himself at risk like this. Right now, he was also angry at the walls. 

“Why can’t I hear what they’re talking about in there?” he asked. 

“Perhaps Deaton has defences for his privacy as well,” Peter said. The two of them were waiting across the parking lot from the front door, crouching behind a car to give them a bit of shelter. The rest of the pack encircled the building, to make sure that no one would get out another way without being spotted. 

“Stiles could be dead already,” Derek said. 

“Or he might be perfectly fine and by barging in, we might start a fight which could get him killed,” Peter said. 

“So we’re supposed to just sit here and do nothing?” 

“Stiles is smart,” Peter said. 

It wasn’t particularly encouraging, but it was the first time Derek had heard Peter compliment anyone’s intelligence. And maybe it meant Stiles would be able to talk his way out of whatever trouble he got into inside. Or talk his way into more trouble, knowing Stiles. 

“I can’t just wait here,” Derek said, after another couple of minutes had passed. 

“What do you suggest instead?” Peter asked. “Walking in there, past the mountain in the walls and into the waiting claws of Deucalion’s pack?” 

His tone conveyed how idiotic he thought that idea was. Derek couldn’t argue on that point. 

A moment later, the door of the clinic opened and Kali burst out. She let out a howl of pure rage. Derek could almost feel the fury pouring off her. She threw back her head as she let loose the sound. 

Then, when she lowered her face from the sky, her eyes met Derek’s. His hiding space behind a parked car now seemed pitiful. With another furious snarl, she leapt across the intervening space. Derek quickly dodged back from the car to give himself some room to fight but then she was on him. He evaded the first swipe of her claws, but then she spun, bringing her foot up and slashing those claws across his chest. Derek felt the burn of pain, but he managed to leave wounds of his own along her calf. 

Everything dissolved into chaos. He was aware of Peter fighting Kali alongside him. He had to avoid slashing Peter or being slashed by accident, while they tried to contain the whirling fury of Kali’s claws. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek glimpsed the twins in their merged form, fighting against the rest of the Hale pack. 

They had the greater numbers, but Kali didn’t seem to even notice their attacks, while hers were tearing agony through Derek’s flesh. He was struggling just to keep from being torn to pieces. Every move he made seemed to be slightly too slow and not quite strong enough. 

Her claws cut through him again and again, feet and hands blurring through the air and splashing his blood on the ground. Somewhere in the middle of it, Derek stumbled and ended up on his knees. He saw Kali raise her claws to finish him off, but Peter leapt on her in his alpha form, tearing through her flesh even as she tore through his. The air was filled with snarling and cries of pain. 

“Stop!” a voice yelled above the chaos. 

Derek looked towards the door of the clinic and saw Deucalion standing there in wolf form. He held Stiles pressed against his chest, claws against Stiles’ neck. As the battle stilled, Derek could hear the frantic racing of Stiles’ heart. But Stiles met his eyes. Stiles smiled. 

Derek was confused for a moment, until he saw Stiles reaching into a pocket. 

Derek shut his eyes as the stun grenade went off. The instant the flash faded, Derek was moving, past Kali, towards the clinic. Stiles had taken the opportunity to pull away from Deucalion, who was staggering and stunned despite his disability. Derek slashed his claws at Deucalion’s throat, feeling the hot blood splash over his hand, but he didn’t time to see how badly he’d hurt him. 

Derek grabbed Stiles, ignoring his own hurt, and he ran. 

“Run!” Derek yelled. 

He couldn’t afford to stop and see if the rest of the pack were obeying. He just clutched Stiles close to his chest and fled as fast as he could. He didn’t stop until he reached his car, parked a few blocks away. Only then did he see that the rest of the pack were running alongside him. Only then did he see that the alphas hadn’t followed them. Only then did he feel the screaming agony the raged through his body. 

He set Stiles down and nearly collapsed against the side of his car. 

“Not again,” Stiles said. His hands were at Derek’s side, helping him into the passenger seat and grasping for the keys. In moments, the whole pack were driving away from the clinic and back towards the house, towards the safety of their home. Erica and Boyd were in the backseat, while the rest of the pack got into Peter’s car. 

“Are you OK?” Stiles asked from the driver’s seat. 

“I’ll be fine,” Derek said. “You?” 

“Regretting the life choices that led me to this position.” 

***

It didn’t take them long to get back to the house and get settled into the den again. Derek was nervous that the alpha pack might have followed them, so Peter took a quick patrol around the edge of the house before rejoining them. By the time they were ready, Derek’s wounds were already healing. Stiles had given each of the betas a quick once-over but the werewolf healing was kicking in. 

“Well,” Derek said, once they were all settled, “that was useless.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “I learned quite a lot.” 

“Like?” Peter asked. 

“Deucalion’s determined to fight you guys, no matter what.” 

“We knew that already,” Boyd said. 

Stiles shook his head. “No. He killed Ennis himself. Deaton said Ennis would survive, so Deucalion killed him so that he could tell his pack there was a reason for revenge.” 

Derek felt cold. An alpha killing one of their own was almost unheard of. The only time it ever happened was when a particularly rebellious beta challenged the alpha for position. Even that was rare; usually the alpha displayed their strength and taught the beta to keep their place. Derek knew that Deucalion had done it before and persuaded his pack to do the same; that was how he’d become the alpha of alphas. But for him still to be doing so was horrific. It was worse than what Peter had done to Laura. 

“There isn’t a point to the fight,” Stiles continued, “because the fight _is_ the point. Deucalion doesn’t want your territory or anything else, he just wants an excuse.” 

That shouldn’t have been such a big deal. Derek hadn’t really believed they’d be able to reason with Deucalion or convince his pack to leave, but it was different to know it for sure. 

“The thing is,” Stiles went on, “I don’t think the rest of the pack know that. Deucalion told the others that Ennis died from his injuries in the fight.” 

“Deucalion wants power,” Peter said. “When a werewolf kills an alpha, they gain the alpha’s power. When Deucalion killed his pack, he gained their power as well. And now he’s killed an alpha. He’s coming to kill me to add my power to his own.” 

A few days ago, a part of Derek would have said to let him. The part of him that still hated Peter for what he did to Laura wanted to let Peter die. But Peter’s death would spell disaster for the pack. A pack wasn’t considered a pack without an alpha and without Peter or his power, the Hale pack would crumble and be overtaken by their neighbours. If they survived, it would be as packless omegas. 

“We have to kill Deucalion,” Peter said. “Probably the others in his pack too. We may need to employ tricks or hunter weapons to take them down.” 

The idea of going into a fight with hunter weapons still left a sour taste in Derek’s mouth, but Peter was right. Having nearly been torn to shreds twice in two days, Derek knew how strong the alphas were. 

A silence fell across the den as they thought about this. Derek looked across at Cora, who seemed pale and tense. They’d lost so much already, and now they faced the possibility of losing everything. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her that she’d be alright, but he knew that she’d be able to hear the lie. 

“There are other werewolves out there,” Stiles said quietly. “Other packs.” 

“What about them?” Peter asked. 

“Could they be persuaded to help?” 

“Werewolves don’t go to other packs for help,” Peter said. “It would look weak.” 

“Well maybe a werewolf wouldn’t have to go,” Stiles said. Peter raised an eyebrow and Stiles continued, “I’m not part of your pack and you said it yourself, I’m not your Emissary. I could go and talk to the neighbouring packs, feel out their position, talk to them about the threat Deucalion poses, and it would just be a human having a conversation. If another pack accuses you of weakness, you can claim I’m just a human who overstepped his mark.” 

There was another moment of silence, then the smile slowly spread on Peter’s face. 

“I like you, Stiles,” he said. 

“Hasn’t Stiles risked enough?” Derek asked. He kept thinking of this morning, of seeing Deucalion’s claws at Stiles’ throat. That was twice Stiles had almost died because of this fight that had nothing to do with him. 

“Deucalion won’t expect this,” Peter said. “If Stiles goes to the other packs, the alphas won’t know to look for him there. He may well be safer performing this task than if he stays here.” 

Derek still wasn’t happy. Peter was using Stiles as yet another piece in his games, but Stiles was vulnerable. He didn’t have the strength or healing that they did. It would be far too easy for him to get killed, and this plan involved Stiles going alone, otherwise they wouldn’t have the deniability. 

But Stiles looked at Derek seriously and said, “I’m doing this. No arguments. But I’m going to want some things first.” 

***

Stiles was at his laptop, researching alarm systems, motion sensors and anything else that could be used to protect the Hale house. The problem was that they were surrounded by woodland. Many animals steered clear of the werewolves, but there were enough around that any alarm system was likely to be tripped by a random, passing deer. He wondered if the hunter whose guns Derek had stolen would have something more useful, but he didn’t think a second trip for equipment would go down well. 

Peter was out somewhere, getting supplies. Stiles had decided he’d rather not know exactly what that entailed, but he found himself surprised that he was worried. He was nervous about Peter’s safety. 

Derek walked into the den and presented Stiles with a plate of warmed up leftovers. Stiles set the laptop aside to eat. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until this point and he dug in gratefully, while Derek sat down on the couch beside him. 

“I don’t want you to go,” Derek said. 

“I’m not sure I’d be any safer round here,” Stiles said. 

“If you were here, I’d be able to keep an eye on you, keep you safe.” 

Stiles felt a little flutter inside at that sentiment. It was sweet. His very own werewolf bodyguard. It was hard to believe he’d only known Derek a couple of weeks, hard to accept how terrified he’d been of Derek in the beginning. He reached out and gave Derek’s hand a squeeze. 

“Why are you doing this?” Derek asked. “You’re not pack. You don’t have to risk yourself like this.” 

“I’m doing it for you, dummy,” Stiles said. 

“I don’t want you to. I just want you safe.” 

“I want you safe, Derek. That’s not going to happen until we stop Deucalion.” 

Stiles tried to give Derek a smile. 

“We’re in this together, Derek. Whether you like it or not.”


	18. Day Eighteen

Stiles woke once again wrapped tightly in Derek’s arms. His back was pressed against Derek’s chest. For that moment, it was warm and comfortable. Even the pain from his wounds seemed distant and faint. Stiles wondered if Derek had been leeching the pain from him in his sleep. 

Derek stirred behind him. Stiles felt the snuffling in his hair that suggested Derek was sniffing him again. 

“I don’t want you to go,” Derek said. “I could just hold you like this, trapped here forever with me.” 

“You need to work on sounding less like a creepy stalker,” Stiles said, but he stroked his fingers over the arm that was wrapped around him. 

“This is dangerous.” 

“I know. But staying near Deucalion’s pack isn’t going to be any safer, and this could actually help.” 

Derek made a little frustrated sighing noise in Stiles’ ear. 

“I want you to carry my scent,” Derek said. 

“I’m trying to think of a perfume-related pun right now,” Stiles said. “And you still need to work on the creepy stalker thing.” 

“If you smell of me, the other werewolves will be able to pick up on it.” 

“You think I’ll be safer if they think I belong to you?” 

“Not… belong,” Derek said, choosing his words carefully. “But as a random human, you might be at risk. If you carry my scent, it’s a clear sign that you’re under the aegis of another pack.” 

That hadn’t worked with the twins, but then Deucalion’s pack had targeted him precisely because he was under the protection of the Hale pack. It might be a way of protecting him against a more reasonable pack and Stiles was eager for that. He’d volunteered for this, but that didn’t stop him being terrified of what might happen. 

“What do we need to do?” he asked. “Because pain sucky magic or not, I don’t think I’m up for sex right now.” 

He didn’t add that Melissa McCall might kill him if he tore his stitches having sex. 

Derek didn’t answer at once, but when he did, there was an embarrassment in his tone. 

“I could… cum on you,” he said. 

It could have been worse. Derek might have wanted to mark his territory with urine. Stiles found himself a little embarrassed himself as he realised that the thought of Derek claiming him in this way was actually turning him on. The idea that he could walk out in the world and people would just know that he was with Derek Hale was slightly cool. Cool enough to diminish the creeper factor anyway. 

“OK,” Stiles said. 

They found a large enough part of him that wasn’t protected by bandages, which turned out to be his ass and the back of his legs. He lay on his front in the middle of the big bed while Derek knelt over him. Stiles lay there and tried to keep a straight face as he heard Derek’s huffing breathes behind him. There was something surreal about this whole situation, as humorous as it was erotic. Stiles wasn’t sure if he should start humping his own half-erection against the mattress or just burst out laughing. 

After a few minutes, a hot stickiness splattered across his skin. Derek collapsed down to lie beside him. 

“So,” Stiles asked, “what now? Do I need to marinade for a bit?” 

Derek met his eye and then started laughing a little. 

“Just don’t be too thorough about cleaning it up.” 

A little while later, once they’d changed his dressings and found clothes, Stiles made his way to the kitchen. He was sure he must be blushing, knowing that every werewolf in the pack would be able to tell what they’d done. They were all staying in this house now, keeping watch in case of attack and generally staying together to avoid being picked off by the alphas one at a time. Peter was in the kitchen when they got there. He looked at Stiles as though assessing him, and then nodded approval. 

“I was able to acquire some supplies from Deaton,” Peter said. “Some mountain ash. It’s not much, but you should be able to defend yourself. It’s in the trunk of my car. Collect it before you leave.” 

“Why didn’t you bring it into the house?” Stiles asked. 

“Handling mountain ash is problematic for werewolves. Even when it’s contained.” 

“Right.” 

“If you need to protect yourself, form an unbroken line of the ash.” 

“Magic circle of ash. Got it.” 

“The shape is irrelevant,” Peter said. “All that matters is that the line isn’t broken.” 

“I still don’t like this,” Derek said. They were sitting at the table now, eating a simple breakfast while Peter sipped his coffee. 

“It’s a good plan,” Peter said. 

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

Stiles reached across the table and gave Derek’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He wanted to promise that everything would be perfectly fine, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t even promise that he’d be careful because he knew that once he got out there, the likelihood of him running his mouth was high. But he was going. He could fight alphas or protect Derek, but he could do this. 

A little while later, the pack gathered to wish him luck and see him off. Stiles was a little surprised when Cora pulled him into a hug. He wondered if this was like what Derek had done, making him smell like the werewolf pack to lend him a degree of protection. He suspected that must be it, because once Cora had finished, Peter stepped up and gave him a much briefer hug. Stiles could practically here Derek grow tense at that. Even Isaac saw Stiles off with a clap on the back and a wish of good luck. 

Stiles gathered his few supplies. He had the crossbow and a supply of bolts for it, along with straps so he could carry both weapon and ammunition across his back. There was the plastic bag filled with the mountain ash powder. He had another of the flashbangs. Then Peter handed Stiles a glass jar filled with something that had clearly once been organic. It looked like dried mushrooms or maybe some other plant. It was the sort of thing his dad would have given him the drugs lecture just for holding. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked. 

“It can be used to make tea,” Peter answered. “It’s a gift for the alpha.” 

“I get it,” Cora said. 

“I don’t,” said Stiles. 

Peter gave an amused little smile. Stiles suspected he was secretly pleased that he had a reason to explain something after the way Stiles had just been figuring things out up to now. 

“The alpha was a friend of Talia’s before the fire,” he said. “They would drink this tea when they met up. That’s something an outsider wouldn’t know, but someone with the trust of the pack would. We want Satomi to know that you are acting on behalf of the whole pack, but we can’t simply tell her that.” 

“Got it,” Stiles said. More sneaky subterfuge. He couldn’t tell another pack that the Hales were asking for help because that would look weak. The Hales would have to be able to deny everything if an outsider challenged them on it. A gift from the human meant absolutely nothing officially, but it could mean a hell of a lot unofficially. 

Stiles wondered if he should take one of the guns, but it was probably better if the other werewolves didn’t think of him as a threat. 

Derek drove him to the edge of the preserve, to where Scott was waiting with Stiles’ jeep as they’d arranged by phone the day before. 

“You’re really doing this?” Scott asked. “Playing messenger for the werewolves?” 

“I’m doing this,” Stiles said. 

“You can still back down,” Derek said. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Stiles said. 

“I still think I should come with you, for protection,” said Derek. 

“No. That’s a stupid idea. It would ruin the whole plan. Besides, I’ll be fine. I’ve got the crossbow now.” 

Derek was able, without a single word, to express exactly how idiotic he thought that statement was. It was impressive how much he could say with just a derisively quirked eyebrow. 

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles said again. He stepped up to Derek and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “You just worry about keeping yourself in one piece until I get back.” 

Derek pulled him in for a deeper kiss, desperate and needy, long enough that Stiles started to suspect that Derek might never let him go. But eventually he had to. They stood there a moment longer. 

“Be careful,” Derek said. 

“You too.” 

Stiles took his jeep’s keys from Scott and got in. He glanced into the rearview mirror a few times and saw the two of them standing there beside Derek’s car, watching him drive away. 

Then Stiles gave his attention to the road and tried not to imagine alpha werewolves leaping out of the trees to ambush him. 

***

Derek watched the jeep drive away. It was a battle just to stand there and let Stiles go off alone with all the danger that they’d faced lately. It made sense that Stiles talk to Satomi alone, but Derek would have felt happier accompanying him at least some of the journey. Now there was a knot of fear in his gut that he knew wouldn’t disappear until he had Stiles in his arms again. 

“You should have told him you love him,” Scott said. 

“I… that’s not… We met less than three weeks ago.” 

“I saw that look you gave him. You should just tell him.” 

“What if he doesn’t say it back?” 

“He’s going off to negotiate with other werewolf packs to keep you safe,” Scott said. “He’ll say it back.” 

“I just…” Derek trailed off. He hadn’t thought about telling Stiles he loved him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about how much Stiles meant to him. Seeing him in that hospital bed, he’d been able to think of little else. But it was different to actually put it into words, to utter it aloud and lay his feelings out for anyone to see… and trample on. 

“You’re hopeless,” Scott said, shaking his head a little. 

“You should team up with my sister.” 

“Maybe I should.” 

***

The directions were pretty straightforward and the pack’s home was unmistakable. A cluster of three large houses stood together in a patch of land bounded by a line of trees. There was a pair of sturdy gates at the entrance with a wrought iron wolf on one and a moon on the other. The pack couldn’t have been less subtle if they’d hung a sign saying, ‘Here be werewolves’. 

Stiles hesitated at the gate and decided to proceed on foot. He also decided, in the interest of appearing unthreatening, to leave the crossbow in the jeep. He didn’t want to get clawed to pieces because they mistook him for a hunter. Besides, the bow was supposed to protect him against Deucalion’s pack. There wasn’t supposed to be any fighting here. 

He considered the mountain ash, then left that behind as well rather than antagonise the werewovles. He kept the flashbang in his pocket though because he wasn’t entirely suicidal. He clutched the jar of tea as if it were a talisman and climbed from the jeep. He pushed one of the gates open and walked inside. 

“What are you doing here?” a voice demanded from under one of the trees. Stiles jumped in surprise and nearly dropped the tea. A teenage boy was standing there, staring at him. There was something familiar about him and Stiles frowned, trying to place him. 

“Well?” the boy asked. “You stink of another pack. What are you doing in our territory?” 

It was something in the rude and hostile tone that finally triggered Stiles’ memory. 

“Didn’t I play lacrosse against you?” he asked. 

The other boy looked him up and down. 

“If you could call it playing. We kicked your team’s asses. But you didn’t come here to discuss yourself inadequacies at lacrosse.” 

“I’d like to talk to your alpha.” 

Stiles stood there beside the gate. He could start walking up the driveway towards the houses, but he wasn’t sure that would be the more sensible move. He was already beginning to regret not bringing the crossbow. 

“If you’re here as an Emissary, you’ll have to prove your credentials.” 

“I’m not an Emissary. I’d just like to talk to her. Please.” 

This plan hinged on the fact that Stiles didn’t have the authority of the pack, but he hadn’t considered that that would make it so difficult to even get in front of the alpha. Peter and the others had told him that Satomi was a reasonable and intelligent woman, as well as being one of the most long-lived of the werewolves, but Stiles hadn’t thought that he might not even get to talk to her if her pack were obstructive. 

“Are you just going to stare at me all day?” Stiles asked. “Or are you going to invite me in?” 

“Give me a good reason not to kick you out on your ass and maybe I’ll invite you in.” 

“Brett!” a woman’s voice called sharply. “This is not how we treat visitors.” 

Stiles turned and saw the woman walking away from one of the houses. She was a dark-haired older woman, but not as old as Stiles had expected from what Peter had told him. Still, she carried an aura of power and from Brett’s reaction, there could be no doubt she was the alpha. Stiles thought he’d seen her at the choosing ceremony. 

“Satomi, I presume?” he asked. She nodded. “I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.” 

“I know who you are,” she said. “Please, this way.” 

She gestured towards the largest of the houses and Stiles followed her up the driveway and inside. Once through the door, Stiles could hear the faint noises of a lived-in home, sounds of movement and voices through the rest of the building. Satomi took Stiles through to a small but smart study and Stiles resisted the urge to start reading the titles of all the books on her shelves. She gestured for him to take a comfortable chair that rested in front of her orderly desk. 

“Um… this is for you,” Stiles said, thrusting out the jar of tea. “It’s a gift. A thank you for inviting me into your home. I… er… I heard you liked this.” 

“You have good ears for a human,” she said. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a joke, an insult, or a compliment. He just smiled nervously and let her take the tea. She set it down on her desk and sat down. 

“Stiles,” she said, “I don’t know what you have experienced since your choosing, but if you’ve come to ask for protection from the Hale pack, I’m afraid I can’t help you. We can’t interfere with another pack’s choosing and Derek Hale is entitled to do whatever he likes to you.” 

“It’s not like that,” Stiles said. He hadn’t considered how the fact that he must smell of sex and blood and pain medication might be misinterpreted. Derek’s attempt to bestow the pack’s protection on him might make Satomi and the other werewolves think he was a victim of rape trying to escape from his position. 

“A few days ago, I was attacked,” Stiles said, “by two members of Deucalion’s alpha pack. Deucalion was trying to incite violence between his pack and the Hales and there was a battle between them. After the fight, one of Deucalion’s pack was injured. I witnessed Deucalion kill that werewolf himself and blame it on the Hales so that his pack would have an excuse for vengeance, a reason to keep fighting. He’s not going to stop until he’s dead, or he’s wiped out the Hale pack.” 

Satomi’s face was calm and unreadable. 

“This is a worrying situation,” she said, “but I’m not sure why you’d come to me.” 

“Deucalion wants to kill. It’s not about territory or rivalry or even revenge. He wants an excuse to kill another pack so he can get the power of their alpha. But I don’t think he’ll stop with one alpha, do you?” 

“Are you trying to warn me that Deucalion will come after my pack next?” 

“I don’t know if you’ll be next, but I know someone will be. Deucalion will take out the Hales and then he’ll move on and find another pack to pick a fight with. Maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe some other pack will take him out before he gets round to you. Or maybe he’ll kill enough alphas that he feels he has enough power and he’ll stop. Or maybe he’ll keep going, targeting pack after pack until, sooner or later, he comes after you.” 

“Did the Hales send you to ask for my help?” Satomi asked. 

Stiles smiled, “Of course not. The Hales couldn’t possibly be seen asking for help in a dispute between their pack and another. But I’m not part of the pack. I can point out that, logically, two packs would have an easier time defeating the alphas than one.” 

Satomi smiled a little, understanding in her eyes. 

“There are a lot of other packs you could have gone to,” she pointed out. 

“True,” Stiles answered, “but not all of them used to take tea with a former alpha of the Hale pack. And not all of them have the forces at their disposal that you have.” 

“If you are trying to call on goodwill between packs, Peter may find himself short on credit in that regard.” 

“But what about Derek and Cora?” Stiles asked. “Deucalion may want the alpha’s power, but he’s not exactly going to just leave them alone. Derek’s already nearly died fighting Deucalion’s wolves.” 

There was a piercing quality to her gaze, as though she could see into the heart of him. Stiles sat there and tried not to fidget under the weight of those eyes. He was trying to be tactful and diplomatic, to say enough but not say too much, and all he kept thinking was that he was in this way over his head. He wasn’t the pack Emissary. He could easily overstep his mark. He could be misunderstanding what she had or hadn’t interpreted of his statements. 

“Why are you here?” Satomi asked. 

“To convince you to fight Deucalion,” Stiles answered, because there was no point being obtuse about that part. 

“I mean you personally. Is it because you are the Hale’s chosen slave and must do Derek’s bidding?” 

Stiles gave a little laugh at that, “Actually Derek didn’t want me to come. I’m here because both times Derek has gone against Deucalion’s pack, he’s ended up cut to ribbons. He nearly died the first time. I want him safe.” 

She was looking at him intently again. Stiles wondered what she was seeing, whether she was listening to his heart and trying to identify his honesty. He wondered if his nerves were muddling up the signals. 

“Packs get into disputes quite often,” Satomi said. “It’s not unheard of for a pack to be threatened by one with far greater strength. Occasionally an alpha is forced to swallow their pride and turn to another for help. But those alphas know that help doesn’t come free.” 

“Surely getting rid of a threat like Deucalion is its own reward,” said Stiles, not at all hopeful that this line of reasoning would actually work. Sure enough, Satomi’s eyes narrowed. 

“If I were to get involved, I’d be putting my pack at great risk and if we were to lose in this venture, I’d draw Deucalion’s wroth against myself. You said it yourself, he could easily move on somewhere else once he’s done with the Hales. The safest course of action would be to do nothing and hope that some other group of packs decide to form an alliance against the alphas.” 

“The flaw in that logic is that every other pack might do that and end up facing Deucalion alone.” 

“Nonetheless, you need to offer more of an incentive than a potential threat given the dangers involved.” 

“I’m not the Hale Emissary,” Stiles said. “The Hales won’t be held to anything I might promise you.” 

“Then perhaps I should just thank you for the tea and send you on your way.” 

Stiles sighed. He wasn’t going to just give up on this. 

“What are you after?” Stiles asked. 

“I have a large pack,” Satomi said, “and a small territory. The Hales have the opposite situation.” 

“You’re after their territory?” Stiles knew that Peter wouldn’t be happy about that. He’d made comments about Laura giving away part of the territory and he’d been very negative about it. Maybe he could be persuaded given the fact that the lives of his entire pack were at stake, but even then, Stiles was doubtful. 

Satomi just sat there, mouth pressed into a narrow line. 

“Is there anything else you’re after that Peter’s likely to be happier about giving you?” Stiles asked. 

“If we join you in this fight, my pack would be risking their lives. An area of land the Hales don’t need is a small price to pay,” Satomi said. 

“I can’t make promises for the pack but all I can promise is that Peter won’t like this.” 

“And I don’t like sending my children into battle with a power psychopath.” 

There was a drawn out silence as the two of them just stared at each other across the desk. She had a point. Having seen the alphas fight, Stiles could understand why any sensible alpha would want to keep as far away from them as possible. It was a huge risk that they were asking her to take. 

“I’ll talk to Peter,” Stiles said. 

Satomi smiled, “Good. Do you want something to eat before you go back?” 

***

It was mid-afternoon before Stiles pulled the jeep up in front of the Hale house. There had been no sign of the alphas, no threat or violence. He wanted to take that as a good sign, but he kept wondering if that meant that the alphas had been attacking here. He was relieved therefore to see the cars parked as usual and no obvious sign of violence. 

He got out of the jeep and started towards the house. He gave a yelp of surprise when the front door opened and, moments later, he found himself held in Derek’s arms. 

“Derek, chest injuries,” Stiles said quickly, feeling the pain from the unexpected pressure. Derek let go of him instantly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It’s fine. Now I really should talk to Peter,” Stiles said. 

They hurried inside. Stiles had expected to see Peter in the den. He hadn’t expected the person who was sitting on the couch next to him. 

“Scott?” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Scott looked slightly embarrassed. 

“It turns out some people are not so opposed to the concept of becoming a werewolf,” Peter said. 

Stiles wasn’t as surprised as he probably should have been. After all, he’d discussed werewolves with Scott before the choosing ceremony. He knew that Scott would love to get the bite if only because it would remove the need to worry about asthma. He was a little surprised though that Peter was apparently considering it, especially given the scathing comments he’d made about Derek’s choice of betas. The only thing Stiles could think of to explain it was that Peter wanted more pawns to use as cannon fodder for the fight against Deucalion’s pack. 

“Have you given him the bite?” Stiles asked. 

“Not yet,” Peter said. “He should take some time to think it over. Now tell me how it went to Satomi.” 

“You’re not going to like what she had to say.” 

Stiles sat down and gave a summary of the conversation. Peter nodded, his face difficult to read, listening in silence until Stiles reached the end. 

“I will not barter away this pack’s territory,” Peter said. “If I give some away to Satomi over this, other packs will continue to nibble away at the edges of our territory until we have nothing left.” 

“What good’s your territory if you’re dead?” Stiles asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended. 

“Do you think I should agree to this?” 

“Satomi is willing to bring her pack into a fight against an enemy who would probably love to kill her for her power and slaughter every one of her betas, and what she’s asking for is a patch of land you don’t need or really use. I know I’m human so I don’t really understand the drive you guys have for territory, but it seems utterly stupid for you to refuse help when you’re a step away from being slaughtered by the alphas.” 

There was a pause, then Peter said, “I was expecting you to say ‘no offence’ after calling me stupid.” 

“No, feel free to take offence at that.” Stiles was long past worrying if Peter was going to claw him to bits. 

“I won’t trade away this pack’s territory,” Peter said. 

“Then I hope you enjoy watching your betas die.” 

Peter stood up from his place on the couch. It was a slow movement, each muscle easing him upwards, but somehow there was a strength to it. Stiles had never imagined that standing up could look so much like a threat. The nerves Stiles had thought were forgotten came back as he remembered just how powerful Peter was. Peter walked over to Stiles, eyes locked on his in a cold glare. 

“You overstep yourself,” Peter said. 

“I don’t answer to you,” Stiles said, wishing he sounded a little more confident about that. 

“And I won’t take orders from you about how to deal with my own pack.” 

“I’m not giving you orders. I’m just pointing out that if you keep putting your pride ahead of the welfare of your pack, you’re all going to end up dead.” 

Stiles jabbed a finger into Peter’s chest, realising he’d done that only afterwards. They both looked down at the offending finger. Stiles withdrew it quickly, slightly surprised that it was still attached to his hand. 

“I will not invite another pack to take what is ours,” Peter said, “or we will watch our territory crumble as more outsiders take advantage of our vulnerability.” 

“If you’re using the whole slippery slope argument, that is completely fallacious,” Stiles said. “Giving away one bit of territory under one circumstance doesn’t automatically mean that some terrible thing will happen down the road. The first step of a chain doesn’t ultimately lead to the end of that chain, especially given that there can be steps taken anywhere along the chain of events to stop it going further. Satomi isn’t asking you to give up everything you’ve got. She’s making a perfectly reasonable request giving that you’re asking her to risk her life and the lives of her pack.” 

Peter took a small step towards Stiles, crowding into his personal space. 

“No,” Peter said, voice low and a step away from a growl. 

“No? Is that all you’ve got? No logic? No planned out strategic moves? Just no? You just can’t bear the thought that I’m right and you’re wrong. If you don’t stop being so stubborn and think about something other than your own pride, your pack is going to get destroyed and it will be all your fault.” 

Peter glared into Stiles’ eyes. 

For a moment, Stiles could feel nothing but the terrified racing of his heart. Then there were hands on his shoulders. Derek’s hands. Derek was standing right beside him, stepping into the space of this argument. Stiles felt the warmth of those fingers through his shirt and that calmed his heart a little. 

Peter’s eyes flicked towards Derek. Then he walked out. 

Only then did Stiles realise that the rest of the pack had gathered in the den. They’d been watching that whole confrontation. 

“I’ve never seen anyone tear Peter down like that,” Cora said. “That was better than theatre.” 

“I heard that,” Peter’s voice called from somewhere in the house. 

Suddenly, Stiles’ legs seemed about to give way as the enormity of what he’d done hit him. He’d just argued with an alpha in front of his pack, in the heart of the alpha’s territory. He was lucky to still be alive. 

He staggered to the couch, Derek helping him getting there. 

“Hey,” Derek said quietly, “are you OK?” 

“I think I’m going to be sick. Shit, that was scary.” 

“No,” Derek said. “That was amazing.” 

He bent down and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips. 

***

No one was quite sure where Peter was. Stiles had cooked a quick dinner for the pack and Scott had stayed to eat it. Derek wasn’t sure what to think about Scott potentially becoming part of the pack but there had to be something about him that had won Stiles’ affection. Someone Stiles admired had to be worth something to them. 

After dinner, there was still no sign of Peter, or any sign of the alphas. Derek could practically smell the tension from the rest of the pack. They spent some time talking about the fights they’d had with Deucalion’s pack, discussing ways to make things go more favourably in the future. Stiles had the idea of surrounding an area with mountain ash and then using the ranged weapons. It would let them fight the alphas without being at risk. That only worked though if they had a stationary area to protect. They might be able to defend the house with that idea, but it would take a lot of mountain ash and they couldn’t set it up while Peter was still out there somewhere. 

In the end, they decided that all they could do for the time being was set up a schedule for keeping watch through the night, in case of an attack. Derek agreed to take the first watch, but he still helped Stiles upstairs to the bedroom so he could check the dressings on his wounds. 

Inside the room, Derek thought about this morning and what Scott had said, and he thought about how worried he’d been all day that Stiles might get hurt. Somehow, he felt more terrified in this moment than when he’d been fighting the alphas. 

“Scott had a theory,” Derek said quietly. 

“That’s not going to end well,” Stiles joked. 

“Maybe. Depends whether he’s right or not.” 

Stiles, dressed in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, set his crossbow down on the bedside table as part of his preparations for bed. He seemed surprisingly calm, despite everything, but the fact that he wanted a weapon close at hand revealed at as a lie. 

“Scott’s theory was that, this morning, when I was seeing you off, I should have said, ‘I love you’.” 

Stiles froze, standing there beside the bed. He didn’t turn to look at Derek. There was no sign of a response, except that his heart rate had increased. Derek wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He tried to fight his own terror as he continued. 

“Scott also thinks,” Derek said, “that if I’d said it, you would have said it back.” 

Stiles still hadn’t moved. Derek stood there, fighting the urge to run and hide. He had just put his feelings out there and Stiles hadn’t said anything. Derek waited as Stiles slowly turned his head. 

“Do you?” Stiles asked. 

“Do I?” 

“Do you love me?” 

Derek thought about the fear he’d felt when Stiles had been hurt, the way it had felt to see him with Deucalion’s claws at his throat, the way it had felt when he’d seen Stiles smile, the desire to see Stiles always safe and happy. 

“Yes,” Derek said, the word a whispered admission of vulnerability. 

It seemed the silence lasted forever. Stiles stepped away from the bed and came over to Derek. Derek waited for the inevitable. He waited for Stiles to tell him that he couldn’t possibly love someone like him. He waited for Stiles to laugh at him, the way Kate had. He waited for the destruction of his hopes. He looked down at Stiles’ hand, which came to rest on his arm. It was easier than looking Stiles in the eye as his feelings were crushed to ruins. 

“I love you,” Stiles said quietly. 

Derek blinked and looked at him, fighting down the surprise, hoping that those words hadn’t just been a figment of his fevered imagination. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

Stiles gave a little laugh. 

“I love you,” Stiles said, and he kissed Derek gently on the lips. 

“I love you,” Derek said. He felt afraid, as though some fate would hear those words and come to snatch this moment away from him. But all that happened was that Stiles put his arms around him. Derek felt the warmth of him, smelled his scent, heard the pounding of his heart. This moment was real. Whatever destruction life had in store, this moment was theirs.


	19. Day Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only finished this chapter yesterday, so I apologise if there are more typos than usual. I'm going to try and get the next chapter done by Thursday so you can have it as a Christmas present.

Stiles was the only person in the house who’d managed to get a full night’s sleep, what with the others taking their shifts on guard duty. They hadn’t let Stiles take a watch, which made sense giving that he didn’t have the enhanced hearing, but that meant he was the only one likely to be in any mood other than grumpy today. He got up to fix them breakfast, digging through the cupboards to find what was needed. Someone was going to have to go to the store soon, but that thought filled him with a sense of dread. He wouldn’t feel comfortable going back there without a troop of bodyguards. 

He was making porridge when Peter walked into the kitchen. Stiles felt anxious again. There was no Derek here now. He knew it would take one yell to get Derek running down here to protect him, but Peter could do a lot of damage in that time. 

“There are some things we need to discuss,” Peter said. 

“OK,” said Stiles. He wished he was holding something sharper than a wooden spoon. He also wished he hadn’t left his crossbow upstairs. If Peter noticed Stiles’ unease, he didn’t show it. He just walked across the kitchen to stand casually by the counter, next to where Stiles was measuring out porridge oats into a large pot. 

“Firstly, I’ve given some thought to your comments yesterday. I stand by my statement that I won’t barter away our territory. However, there may be a compromise. While I won’t trade a piece of our land, I might consider offering it as a gift of gratitude should another pack render assistance in this dark time. I won’t put anything in writing, but I will show you an area on the map that I would be willing to part with. Of course, how much I give will depend on how generous I feel, which will depend on how much help I’ve received. You can take this message back to Satomi.” 

“OK. Great.” 

“The second thing,” Peter started, then trailed off ominously. 

“Yes?” Stiles asked. 

Peter moved lightning-fast. He grabbed Stiles by the back of the neck and slammed his head down towards the counter, stopping only moments before braining Stiles on the counter top. Stiles was trapped there, held by werewolf strength, as Peter pressed his face against the kitchen surface. 

“You don’t get to contradict me like that in front of the pack,” Peter said. “No one, not even the Emissary, gets to undermine an alpha’s authority and insult his character the way you did to me yesterday.” 

“Hey,” Stiles started to protest. 

Peter pressed down his hand. The counter top was cold and hard against Stiles’ cheek. Peter could probably crush his skull without breaking a sweat. All those warnings, all Derek’s comments about how dangerous Peter was, came flooding back. He’d let his guard down and argued like he would against anyone else, and now he was going to get killed for it. 

Peter leaned down over Stiles, bringing his mouth close to Stiles’ ear. 

“The Emissary gets to advise the alpha,” Peter said quietly, “and to offer suggestions for improvements to plans. The Emissary even gets to argue when he or she thinks the alpha is making a mistake. But not the way you did. Not in front of the betas. If you want to argue with me and insult my intelligence, you do it in private. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Stiles said, because he was fairly sure any other answer would end up with his corpse on Derek’s kitchen floor. An instant later, the hand was gone and Peter stepped back. Stiles straightened up, rubbing at the side of his face. He didn’t think it would even bruise. Peter hadn’t been trying to hurt him, just remind him of who had the strength here. 

“Good,” Peter said. “Now I’m sure the rest of the pack will be waking up soon and wanting breakfast.” 

“Right,” said Stiles. He glanced at the pot of oats, then muttered, “Do you like your porridge seasoned with honey or mountain ash?” 

“Excuse me?” Peter asked. 

Stiles stood by the stove and folded his arms. He was trying to look tough, but the posture also had the advantage of hiding from Peter that his hands were shaking. 

“We’re in private,” Stiles said, “so by your rules, I’m allowed to argue with you, and I should say that threats and violence are not an effective means of motivation, particularly if you want a loyal pack. I mean, yes, you could dice me with your bare claws or crush my skull against the kitchen counter and there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do to stop it, but I’m useless to you dead. Worse than useless: my death will get the sheriff’s department against you and be the final nail in the coffin of your relationship with Derek. Alive I can be useful to you, but dead I’m nothing but problems. It’s in your interest to keep me alive and, as long as I’m alive, I’m not completely helpless. I could put poison in your porridge or shoot you in the head with a crossbow while you sleep. There’s only so far you can push people before they push back.” 

Peter seemed astonishingly calm given that Stiles had just threatened to kill him, but then he’d been astonishingly calm while threatening to kill Stiles. 

“You shouldn’t make threats you won’t follow through with, Stiles,” Peter said. 

“Who says I won’t?” 

“Your heart rate. The fact that you’re sweating. The fact that you simply don’t have it in you to murder someone in their sleep.” 

“I could still do the poison thing though.” 

Peter shook his head, “You’re not a killer, Stiles.” 

“Well, I don’t think your threats are any more valid,” Stiles said. “I know you’re not going to kill me.” 

Peter gave a slow smile. He stepped towards Stiles again. Stiles stepped back instinctively, but he found himself pressed against the kitchen counter again as Peter crowded in. Peter raised a hand, fingers slowly lengthening. This wasn’t a rage attack or loss of control, it was perfectly calm, those claws extending with deliberate slowness. He placed those claws against the side of Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles just stood there, frozen, trying to remember how to breathe. Terror held him locked in place. 

“How confident are you about that?” Peter asked. 

Stiles tried to speak, but what left his mouth was a nervous squeak. 

“Don’t push me, Stiles,” Peter said. 

Stiles stood there, afraid that any slight twitch might cause him to slice his own throat against Peter’s claws. 

“If you want to be the Emissary,” Peter said, “the first thing you must learn is diplomacy. That goes for interactions within the pack as well as with outsiders. The alpha has authority. Your position is to advise.” 

Stiles managed to find his voice and asked, voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts, “Can I advise you to take your claws away from my throat?” 

Peter considered this for a second, then smiled. 

“Yes, you may,” he said. He waited a second, just long enough to make Stiles think he wasn’t going to move, then he stepped back, claws returning to fingers. 

Stiles put a hand to his neck, knowing that he wouldn’t find blood but still slightly surprised that his fingers didn’t meet dampness. He tried to keep his breathing under control. Maybe terror was impeding his thought processes, because it took him a while to realise something that Peter had just said. 

“You said ‘if I want to be the Emissary’,” Stile said, “but I thought you said that was impossible.” 

“Deaton seemed impressed with how you handled yourself in front of Deucalion. He’s willing to teach you if you’re willing to learn.” 

“Seriously?” said Stiles. Terror vanished under a wave of excitement. “You persuaded Deaton to teach me magic? Oh my god, that’s awesome. That totally makes up for threatening to kill me a minute ago.” 

“Who threatened to kill you?” another voice asked. Derek stood in the kitchen doorway. Stiles wasn’t sure how long he’d been listening, but presumably it hadn’t been long. 

“Stiles and I were just defining our relative positions in the pack,” Peter said. Derek glared at him. He looked like he was the one wanting to break out in claws and threats. But he did nothing. 

Stiles returned to making the porridge, putting the pan of oats and milk onto the stove and turning on the heat. His hand, as he adjusted the controls, was shaking. A moment later, Derek was at his side, placing a hand over Stiles’. He looked at him, eyes filled with concern. 

“I’m fine,” Stiles said quietly. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling. He should be terrified, because Peter had threatened him twice in about as many minutes and Stiles knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist arguing in future, which might lead to Peter going through with threats. But on the other hand: magic! Peter had talked to the pack’s Emissary about Stiles being trained in magic. That was just too awesome for words. So Stiles was left not sure if he should be thanking Peter or running for the hills. 

Instead, he made porridge, because he knew what he was doing with porridge. Porridge was simple. Nothing else in his life was anymore. 

Derek just stood next to him, glaring at Peter, until Peter went to wake up the rest of the pack for breakfast. As they gathered around with their bowls of porridge, Peter announced that Stiles would be going back to Satomi to deliver his message. 

“I still don’t like him being out there alone,” Derek said. 

“You’re going to like what I have in mind for you even less,” Peter said. 

***

Derek hated Peter’s plan. He could see, when examined from a point of logic, that there was sense in it, but he still hated it with a burning passion. Right now, he hated Peter as much as he’d ever done, for this plan, for sending Stiles away, and for whatever it was he’d done this morning to freak Stiles out. But Peter was still his alpha, and this plan might help them against Deucalion’s pack. 

So Derek walked, in broad daylight, up to the Argents’ house and knocked on the front door. He glanced up and saw the security camera above the door, wondering what Chris would be thinking if he looked at that. He considered knocking again but just waited. After all, the longer he stood outside the Argents’ front door, the better the odds that word would get back to Deucalion that Derek had been talking to the hunters. 

Peter was confident that the alphas were watching them. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but he’d agreed with Stiles that the attack against him had been too conveniently timed to be a coincidence. Someone was watching them for the alphas. Presumably, not everything the pack did was being watched or Stiles wouldn’t have been able to get safely to Satomi’s yesterday, but there was a good chance that the alphas were keeping watch on the werewolves. If that was the case, Deucalion would soon know that Derek had been visiting the Argents. 

After a few minutes, the door actually opened. Derek almost expected to be met with a gun to the face again, but Chris just opened the door and looked at Derek with an expression of utter confusion. 

“Are you going to invite me in?” Derek asked. 

“Why would I do that?” Chris asked back. 

“So we can talk about Deucalion and how we’re going to deal with his pack.” 

“I thought you were going to do that.” 

“And I thought your whole thing was hunting werewolves who attack humans. Or does Stiles not count because he’s currently serving a pack?” 

Derek didn’t want to have the entire conversation standing on the Argents’ doorstep. It increased the odds of being seen, but it also meant that any spying werewolves would be able to overhear whatever they said. He couldn’t pick up the scent of the alphas, but they might have learned some tricks for staying hidden. 

“It’s not like I’m a vampire,” Derek said. “I could just walk in without an invitation.” 

“And I could shoot you in the head as an intruder.” 

“Haven’t we already been through this?” 

Chris appeared to be thinking seriously about the situation. He was probably considering the possibility of shooting Derek in the head. But, after a minute, he stepped aside and let Derek into the foyer of his house. He didn’t invite Derek any further, but this was enough. Any watching werewolves would have seen an Argent hunter inviting a Hale werewolf into his house, however begrudging that invitation might have been. 

“So what do you want?” Chris asked. Derek couldn’t tell him that he’d already got what he wanted. Peter’s plan was to trick Deucalion into believing that there was an alliance between the Hales and the Argents. The fact that they’d used Argent weapons against Deucalion twice now would hopefully mean that there wasn’t much convincing that would be required. 

“I’m here to talk to you about teaming up against Deucalion’s pack,” Derek said. 

“This is a werewolf territory conflict,” Chris said. “We don’t get involved.” 

“This has nothing to do with territory and you know it. Deucalion is deliberately provoking conflict because he wants to kill us all and gain our power. He’s already the most powerful werewolf around. You don’t want that any more than we do.” 

Derek didn’t think he actually would convince Chris to side with them, but he had to make the attempt. Besides, the longer he spent in here, the more like Deucalion was to believe that there was an alliance, rightly or wrongly. If they could convince Deucalion that the hunters were a threat, he was likely to go after them. Once that happened, there would be humans in the fight and there would be a reason for the sheriff’s forces to get involved. They just needed Deucalion to attack another human. 

“What I want,” Chris said, “is for you to wipe each other out in these fights.” 

“What’s that code you supposedly follow?” Derek said. “’We hunts those who hunt us’, isn’t it? When the twins hunted Stiles. You want to kill werewolves, there’s your justification. You get to slaughter people and feel righteous about it, and isn’t that what you like?” 

“We protect people.” 

Derek gave a derisive snort at that. He knew he was supposed to be trying to play nice, but his skin crawled being in the same room as this guy. 

“We protect humans from your kind,” Chris said. 

“Then protect people from Deucalion.” 

Chris didn’t instantly refuse, which Derek took as a good sign. He didn’t agree to help them either, but that was only to be expected. 

“At least let me take a few more of those flash stun things,” Derek said. 

“I suppose I could spare you a few of those,” Chris said. He led the way into the garage and fished a few of the stunners out of drawer, handing them over. Then he showed Derek out again. Derek kept the stunners in his hands until he was outside and the door was shut. Then he paused and took the time to slowly pocket the little stunners. Any watching werewolf would see him walking out with weapons giving to him by an Argent hunter. That would be taken as proof of an alliance. 

***

Stiles sat in Satomi’s study, sipping the most vile tea it had ever been his torment to endure. It was the tea he’d brought the day before as a gift. He wondered if she were inflicting it on him now as a form of punishment, but then she must have caught his expression, because she smiled a little. 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it,” she said. “I realise it’s something of an acquired taste.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure how anyone could bear to drink enough of the stuff to ever acquire such a taste, but even he knew that it would be undiplomatic to express that thought aloud. So he settled for putting down his cup as quickly as he could while still being polite. 

“Did you pass on my message to Peter?” Satomi asked. 

“I did. He wasn’t happy about it.” 

“But…” she prompted. 

“He said that he won’t barter away territory but,” Stiles stressed the word, “that he might consider ceding a piece of his territory as a gift if someone were to assist the defence of his pack. How large a piece would depend on how much assistance he was given.” 

“And I’m assuming Peter won’t give any assurance or official promise of this arrangement.” 

“Of course not.” 

She sighed and sipped her tea. Stiles waited for her and tried not to fidget. This diplomacy thing was probably going to involve far too much time waiting for other people to talk. 

“This vague hint of a reward,” Satomi said at last, “is worth almost nothing. I could put my pack’s lives on the line to help the Hales only for Peter to come out the other side and say that my help wasn’t good enough to warrant more than a pebble. Or he might say that he made no promise and so isn’t obligated to give me anything.” 

“He’s shown me an area on the map,” Stiles said, “so I think he’s thought about this seriously.” 

“There’s still no promise, no guarantee that this will be worth the risk.” 

“There’s no guarantee of anything. Ever. And, yes, I wouldn’t trust Peter an inch, but I don’t think he could back out of this one. He might try to sly away and give a little less, but he’ll have to give something or you will have a very real claim for a very real territorial conflict, and your pack is more than double the size of his. Besides, it’s not just Peter you’re dealing with. I think Derek would make sure Peter lived up to his side of the bargain. Who knows, maybe Peter will get killed in the fight and then it will be Derek you’ll have to deal with.” 

“A comforting thought,” Satomi said, with a trace of a smile. “Very well. Show me this map.” 

Stiles had some print outs of maps of the Hale territory. Peter hadn’t wanted to actually mark the map because that make be construed as a sign that this conversation was actually happening but Stiles had memorised the natural landmarks. Stiles pointed out an area about a mile square on the edge of Satomi’s territory. Satomi’s face was unreadable throughout. Stiles couldn’t tell if she was impressed or insulted by the amount Peter was willing to offer. 

“I would require something as collateral,” Satomi said. “Just to make sure Peter stays true to his word.” 

“What kind of collateral?” Stiles asked. He had a horrible feeling that this conversational direction was going to end with him locked in a basement as a hostage. From the serious way Satomi was looking at him, it seemed she was considering it. Stiles hated being a pawn in werewolf power games. 

“There must be something Peter cares about,” Satomi said. 

“He cares about his pack. But I don’t think they’ll make good collateral, given the circumstances.” Stiles spoke like it hadn’t occurred to him that he might make a decent hostage. If he acted like he didn’t think he would, then maybe Satomi would assume he wouldn’t. He did consider telling her that he and Peter had exchanged death threats this morning, just to drive home the point that he wasn’t hostage-worthy. 

“You should tell Peter I’ll be giving it some thought,” she said. 

Stiles relaxed just a smidgen, because that meant he’d be allowed to leave here. 

“I’ll do that,” he said. “That, I will do.” 

She smiled, and drank the last of her tea. Then she stood calmly. 

“Well, you’d better be on your way,” she said. “We don’t want to tip Deucalion off too soon about this arrangement. And we wouldn’t want Peter to get concerned about you.” 

There was another little smile. She really did think that Stiles would make good collateral. She was hinting that she could keep him here, that she might make Peter worried. If Peter didn’t hold up his end of the bargain, Stiles would probably find himself a prisoner here. 

He didn’t know how to argue against the idea though, especially since Satomi hadn’t actually said anything. All he could do was try to get out as quickly as possible so that Satomi didn’t decide to capture him right now. He let himself out of the study, Satomi walking with him to the gates of her home, where his jeep was parked. 

“Well, thank you for this conversation,” he said. “And the tea.” 

“You didn’t drink any of the tea.” 

“Yes, well, thanks anyway.” 

She looked amused at his attempts at polite fleeing. Stiles turned to give her a little wave goodbye and then nearly tripped over his own feet as he turned back to his jeep. He got inside before he embarrassed himself further. Satomi just stood at the gate, watching him drive away. 

Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and tried to tell himself that this had gone well. Satomi had agreed to the deal and she hadn’t actually kidnapped him. It really said something about his life when veiled threats of kidnap counted as a win. 

After so much time pouring over maps with Peter, he knew the exact moment when he crossed over from Satomi’s territory into Peter’s. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have noticed in the slightest, but now he recognised the little cairn of stones at the side of the road. He knew that there would be other, similar markers in the wood to signal the dividing line between the two packs. It meant so little to most people, it was astonishing that it could mean so much to the packs. 

Less than a hundred yards from the territory marker, someone leapt from the trees. Stiles slammed a foot on the brake pedal. 

As the jeep skidded to a halt, the guy in the road looked up and met Stiles’ gaze, eyes shining red. It was one of the twins. He stood there, right in front of Stiles’ jeep, smiling at him. 

Stiles had about half a second of frozen shock before he decided to just drive on, but that half second was enough for the werewolf to drive a fist literally through the hood of Stiles’ jeep. He yanked something and the jeep’s engine spluttered to stillness. 

“Holy crap,” he breathed. 

There was no time to think. Stiles threw the door open and hurled the stunner in the guy’s direction. Even before the flash started, he grabbed his supplies from the passenger seat and ran from the jeep. He started into the woods, clutching the crossbow and bolts, and the bag of mountain ash. He wished he had a couple spare hands so that he could fire the crossbow without dropping everything. 

There was no way in hell he could outrun a werewolf so Stiles shifted everything in his arms so he could tear open the bag of mountain ash. He grabbed a huge handful out and stopped running, pouring the powder in a line on the earth floor. He grabbed handful after handful, spinning round to make a circle around him. Only when he’d finished did he look up and see the werewolf there, looking at him with an expression of amusement. The guy could have run up to Stiles and stopped him long before now, but he was entertained watching Stiles’ attempts at defence. 

Somehow, that made Stiles angrier than the fact that there was a hole in the hood of his jeep. He felt like a mouse being toyed with by a cat before the kill. He dropped the mountain ash bag and fitted a bolt into the crossbow. The werewolf’s twin approached now from between the trees, equally amused by Stiles’ struggles. Stiles aimed the crossbow towards the first of the twins. He tried to keep his hand from shaking. He’d never hurt anyone before, certainly never shot anyone. Even after everything they’d done, he had to remind himself that these guys could almost certainly heal from anything he might do. He pulled the trigger. 

The werewolf caught the arrow out of the air. 

“Oh, that is not fair!” Stiles complained. The werewolf smirked at him. 

But only for a moment. Then he dropped the bolt with a yell and started rubbing at his hand, as though trying to get something off. It took Stiles a moment to work out what had happened. It was the mountain ash. Stiles had got that stuff all over his hands making the circle and it must have got onto the crossbow bolt. Now, with deliberate care, he bent down and dipped another bolt in the bag of mountain ash. As he straightened, he fitted it into the crossbow. 

“Oh, it’s on,” said the werewolf who’d caught the bolt. He started to take off his jacket. Beside him, his twin started doing the same. 

Stiles really hoped the barrier held because the twins hadn’t been so serious about fighting last time and he’d still ended up in hospital. He couldn’t do much of anything at this point. He had half a dozen more crossbow bolts and a little mountain ash left, but there wasn’t much he could do if his magic circle turned out not to work. 

He watched the twins stripping off shirts and wondered what the hell was going on. Then they stepped up to each other… and into each other. Skin melded into skin where they touched, a single form going into being where once there had been two, their flesh flowing into one huge werewolf. 

“Holy crap,” Stiles muttered, fighting down the rising terror. Then he fired his crossbow, because that was seriously freaky and there wasn’t much else he could do. 

By sheer fluke, the crossbow bolt struck right along the red line where the two beings were joining into one. It embedded into their flesh, the metal arrow, the wooden shaft, and its coating of mountain ash. 

For an instant, there was stillness. Then the twins ripped apart again, yelling with pain. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was the bolt or the mountain ash, but something had hurt them. He gave a fist pump and yelled out, “Yes!” because, after last time, he was glad he could do something. 

He reached for the next crossbow bolt. 

Pain exploded in his leg. He looked down, confusion warring with agony, and saw a white cane embedded in his calf. He nearly fell, his leg unable to take his weight. He turned and saw Deucalion standing under the trees. Beside him, stood Ms Morrell. 

“Deal with the barrier,” he said to Ms Morrell. 

Stiles had to bend down to grab the next crossbow bolt and his leg wouldn’t take it. He collapsed down to the ground, but he grabbed the bolt and nearly had it fitted by the time Ms Morrell reached him. She grabbed the crossbow from his hands and tossed it aside. He hurled a handful of mountain ash in her face but she seemed entirely unconcerned. She just held her hands over his barrier line and brought them swiftly apart. The ash flowed backwards with the movement, leaving a gap in his barrier. 

“Don’t,” Stiles said. She gave him a look filled with sympathy, but then she stepped back. 

“Be sensible, Stiles,” Deucalion said. “You know this is a fight you can’t win.” 

“That’s never stopped me before,” Stiles said. 

He yanked the cane out of his leg, doing his best to ignore the spurt of blood. He saw the sharpened tip at the end and wondered why a werewolf felt the need to carry a blade. He leaned on the cane to help stand, putting all his weight on the good leg, then he held the cane out, aiming that point like a spear tip towards Deucalion. 

One of the twins tackled him to the ground from behind. He slammed down into the earth, his chest and leg competing to see which could be the most agonising. As he screamed in pain, the twin in question grabbed the back of his head and pressed his face into the dirt. Stiles ended up with a mouthful of soil, nearly choking. 

“Be careful Aiden,” Deucalion said. “We want him alive.” 

So it seemed kidnapping was on the menu today after all. 

***

Derek hated the waiting. He suspected he’d been sent to the Argents this morning just to keep him busy and distracted and stop him worrying so much about Stiles. But now he was back at the house, fretting. Surely Stiles should have been back by now. 

He was supposed to be discussing plans with Peter, sitting around the den with the rest of the pack. Peter wanted to lure Deucalion into a trap, but there was a difficulty in figuring out what could be used as a lure. The current plan was to make it look like one of the pack was alone and vulnerable, and then get that person to lead the alphas into an ambush, but there were a lot of risks with that. It would be too easy for the person acting as bait to end up dead before the ambush was set. It would also be difficult to trip the trap without it looking too obvious it was a trap. 

Derek just let the talk wash over him. He was aware of Peter looking at him but he didn’t feel up to contributing. He just needed Stiles to be back and safe. 

He checked his watch again. Surely Stiles had been gone too long. 

“Maybe I should drive out and look for him,” Derek said. “That piece of crap jeep he drives might have broken down.” 

He didn’t dare voice the other thought, which was that Stiles was out there and vulnerable. They hadn’t heard anything from the alpha pack for a while and that worried Derek considerably. He’d have expected an attack by now. 

“He might have had to debate with Satomi for some time,” Peter said. 

“Not this long.” 

“Derek, relax,” Peter said. “I’m sure Stiles can take care of himself.” 

“Are you kidding me?” 

Cora gave a little amused noise. Derek shot her a glare. She shouldn’t be so relaxed while Stiles was still out there. 

“Can we continue?” Peter asked. Derek fell silent. Peter started talking again, discussing possible ambush sites. Derek didn’t even bother listening. He was listening out for the sound of an approaching engine. 

And there, at last, it was. 

“Thank god,” he muttered, standing and heading for the door. 

But the car pulling up in front of the house wasn’t Stiles’ jeep. It was an unfamiliar car and the woman who got out was unfamiliar to him. Derek glowered at her, furious simply because she wasn’t Stiles. 

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

“I’m here as Emissary of Deucalion’s pack,” she said. 

Derek’s claws were out before he’d even thought about it, but a hand at his shoulder held him back. Peter stood beside him, looking at this woman. 

“What message does Deucalion send?” Peter asked. 

“He has Stiles,” she said. 

Derek started moving without even thinking, only for Peter to grab him and yank him backwards. Peter shoved Derek back into the house and positioned himself between Derek and the Emissary. Derek felt the surging rage and fear, imagining what terrible things Deucalion might be doing to Stiles, but even so he knew that Peter was probably right. Attacking this woman wouldn’t help anything. 

“What does Deucalion want?” Peter asked. 

“You,” she said. “Alone. He’ll be in touch with the details.” 

She got back into her car and started it up. Derek wanted to run out there and slash her tires or something, but Peter gave him another shove back into the house. 

Derek’s hands were trembling. Stiles was out there somewhere, in danger and probably hurt. He shouldn’t have let Stiles go alone. He’d known it was too dangerous. 

Peter said, “Someone should call Stiles’ father. I’m sure he’d want to be informed about the situation. And we should probably inform Chris Argent that a human life has been threatened.” 

The rage burned deeper inside Derek. Peter was perfectly calm about this. Too calm. 

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Derek asked. 

Peter turned to him, that expression of calm innocence still on his face. 

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked. 

“Sending Stiles out alone, where he would be vulnerable. You planned for this. You wanted him to be captured.” 

“It gives us an excuse to involve the humans,” Peter said. 

Derek grabbed Peter by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Peter took it with the same calm as ever and that just made Derek want to throttle him. 

“Derek,” Cora said quietly. She and the rest of the pack were watching the scene, not interfering. Derek wasn’t sure whose side they would all take if it came to a fight against Peter. 

“What do you plan on doing, Derek?” Peter asked. “Killing me won’t get Stiles back. You still need me if you want to see your boyfriend again.” 

“Assuming you haven’t got him killed already.” 

“He’s more valuable to Deucalion alive. He’ll be safe for the time being.” 

“If he’s not,” Derek said, “I’ll kill you myself.” 

Peter grabbed Derek’s wrist. With a quick movement, there was a snapping of bone and a searing pain up Derek’s arm, then Peter was free of his hold. 

“You’re welcome to try,” Peter said.


	20. Day Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Christmas present, you get a chapter today and tomorrow. Enjoy. :) 
> 
> On another note, it's been brought to my attention that several of my fics are listed on Goodreads. Goodreads is a site for review, discussion and recommendation of published books. I'm not comfortable with my fics being on there and I've requested the site that they remove them. I'm actually astonished that Goodreads allow fanfiction to be listed at all. 
> 
> I'm perfectly happy if you want to talk about my fics in fandom spaces or on sites like Tumblr, but I ask that people not list on them on a site intended for published books. Thank you.

“You guys are, like, the worst hosts ever,” Stiles said. “And that’s saying something because I’ve been to a party hosted by Jackson.” 

The werewolves didn’t respond. Apparently they’d realised that hitting Stiles round the head with the back of their fists wasn’t going to shut him up, so they’d settled for ignoring him. Stiles supposed that was better than being repeatedly hit, but it made him feel more like he was just a pawn in these games. They didn’t see him as a person worth interacting with, just an object to use. That sat uncomfortably with him. 

Everything else sat uncomfortably too. He was sitting on the floor in some abandoned factory, ropes securing his limbs and holding him trapped against the deserted conveyor belt. The other werewolves moved in and out of the big factory room, sometimes talking quietly to each other. Stiles just shifted his weight, trying to find a position that was slightly less uncomfortable, but he didn’t have much freedom of movement with his hands tied behind him and secured to the legs under the conveyor belt. The ropes were painfully tight. 

“You know that loss of circulation in extremities can be a dangerous thing for humans,” Stiles said. “And our limbs can’t be reattached if they fall off.” 

The werewolves continued to ignore him. The only sign there was that they’d even heard him was when one of the twins glanced in his direction to give him a glare. Then they all got on with whatever it was they were doing. 

Stiles wasn’t sure how long he’d been here. He’d managed to doze briefly, despite the discomfort, but not enough to stop him feeling thoroughly tired. He was sure he must have been here a number of hours, but with his arms trapped as they were, he couldn’t check his watch to see and the old clock high on the factory’s wall said that it was quarter past four and had said that since Stiles had been dumped here. 

“Would one of you mind taking my watch off my wrist and leaving it somewhere I can see it?” Stiles called out. No one bothered replying. 

He was pretty confident it was daylight outside, because there was a little light coming in around the edges of the boarded up windows near the roof. But that could mean he’d slept five minutes and it was early morning, or that he’d slept five hours and it was the middle of the day. He suspected the latter was more likely, because of the pain in his bladder, his hunger and his thirst. It was highly inefficient of the human body that he could be extremely thirsty and desperate for a piss at the same time. If there was any logic to it, his body ought to be able to recycle internally and get rid of both of those problems. 

“Does this place do room service?” Stiles asked. “Or at least have a bathroom I could use?” 

Still there was no response. Stiles hated this more than when they’d been slashing him to bits behind a store. Here and now, he was basically invisible to them, nothing, a worthless human. 

“Seriously,” he said, “you don’t want me to be pissing my pants here. I mean, I’ve only got a human nose and I know that would stink up the place. Besides, having me mark your territory with my urine has got to mess things up for you. Would I claim this place for the Hale pack if I did that?” 

Stiles wasn't expecting a response. He didn’t get one. 

“At least in prisoner of war movies, the prisoner gets a ball to bounce against the wall to stay sane. Can I get a bouncy ball?” 

The fact his hands were tied up meant that a bouncy ball would be absolutely useless to him, but that wasn’t the point. 

“If you don’t give me something to do,” Stiles said, “I’m going to have to start singing. Nobody wants that.” No one replied. “OK. Fine. You’ve brought this on yourselves, you know.” He considered for a moment, trying to remember lyrics, then belted out, “I’m… hooked on a feeling. High on believing.” 

He couldn’t remember the words for the verses, so he just went through the chorus on a loop at the top of his voice. At the fifth repetition, Kali came up to him, grabbed him by the forehead and then slammed his head back against the conveyor belt leg he was tied to. 

“Ow,” Stiles complained. 

“Keep your mouth shut or we’ll see how well you sing when you’re choking on your own blood,” she said. 

“Now that’s just rude,” said a voice across the room. All the gathered alphas spun to face it. Peter stood there in the doorway. From Kali’s hiss of anger, she hadn’t heard him approach, and it looked like the others hadn’t either. Stiles wondered if Peter had used his singing as a distraction so he could sneak up on them. 

“So you actually came,” Deucalion said. 

“It was what you asked for after all,” Peter said. 

The alphas gathered in a line between Stiles and Peter. No one looked particularly worried. Even Peter, who was staring down four alpha werewolves, seemed calm. Deucalion almost seemed amused. 

“I assumed you’d let the human die,” Deucalion said, “and then your nephew would try to kill you.” 

“After going to the trouble of getting you to capture him, that would be rather a waste,” Peter said. Then he went on, “Surely you didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to send Stiles out alone without expecting something like this?” 

Stiles glared at Peter through the wall of werewolf legs. Peter had let him get captured. He’d planned this whole thing. He was still treating Stiles like a piece in his games. Stiles hated Peter more than he hated Deucalion right then. 

“Planned or not,” Deucalion said, “it was foolish of you to come alone.” 

“You’re right,” said Peter. “Coming alone would have been very foolish.” 

One of the boarded up windows exploded inwards. Stiles saw something small hit the ground and he shut his eyes in time. He saw the flash through his eyelids, his ears ringing to the sound of the blast. He opened his eyes again, ears still ringing so much that he couldn’t hear the shots, he could just see the bursts of blood as bullets tore into the flesh of the werewolves. 

Suddenly, the room was filled with snarling and movement. He saw people bursting into the factory on all sides. He saw deputy uniforms, and even recognised Parrish who was firing repeatedly at the twins, who were trying to do their merging thing, hamper by this ongoing attack. There were other people, not in uniform, armed with guns and bows, with Chris Argent in their midst. 

Then his dad was there, at his side, pulling out a knife to cut through the ropes. 

“You OK, kiddo?” his dad asked. Stiles’ ears were recovering now and he could actually make out the words. 

“A little banged up,” he said. “I’ll be fine.” 

He tried to stand, but between the cramps and the injury to his calf, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Pain burned up his leg like fire. 

Then there were others beside him, Satomi and that kid from her home, Brett. 

“We’ll get him to safety, sheriff,” Satomi said. 

Stiles wanted to stay and help. He could see Derek in the chaos now, wolfed out and tearing at the twins with a vicious fury. He wanted to run to Derek’s side and help take him down, but he knew he’d just get in the way. The factory was filled with rage and blood and gunfire so that Stiles couldn’t even follow what was going on. So he didn’t argue. He just let Brett and one of the other werewolves lift him up and carry him to the backdoor and away from the violence. 

***

Derek didn’t hold back. He tore into the twins, wanting them to pay for every drop of Stiles’ blood they’d spilled. He was vaguely aware of his allies around him, the rest of his pack and Satomi’s reinforcements, the hunters, the sheriff’s forces. He had to stop himself for hurting them by accident as he let the rage take over. 

He’d never given over to the fury completely, not like this. There was something beautifully free about the lack of restraint. He felt stronger. He felt powerful. He felt like the world was his for the taking. 

His claws slashed across a throat and he felt heat burning into him along with the blood that splattered his hands and arms. He felt that rush of power and descended on the other twin, that extra burst of speed letting him through defences to rake his claws into the chest, cutting down to the bone of the ribs and snapping them aside, exposing innards and laying them out. The twin fell back, final breath gurgling red from his mouth as Derek destroyed his lungs. 

Then both of the twins were dead at his feet, and Derek still felt that anger burning inside him, fuelled by this new strength. He’d hurt the ones who’d hurt Stiles, but it wasn’t enough. 

He spun, and saw Kali falling under a wave of werewolf claws, Satomi, Isaac, Boyd and Erica working together to get past her slashing feet. Then there was Deucalion, riddled with bullet holes, an arrow still embedded in one arm, fighting Cora and Peter together. Cora managed to get Deucalion down, driving her claws deep into his legs, but it was Peter who dealt the final stroke, ripping out Deucalion’s throat. 

Peter flung his head back in a howl of triumph. He was covered in blood from his own injuries, but as Deucalion fell dead at his feet, Peter vocalised his victory. 

That was the moment that Derek pounced. He leapt at Peter, knocking him to the ground, pinning him. Derek put his claws to Peter’s throat. Derek was stronger now. The twins’ strength burned through him with power he’d never imagined. He wanted to let loose that power. He wanted revenge. 

Peter actually looked surprised. 

“You planned this,” Derek snarled. “You put him at risk. You let them hurt him so you could set this up.” 

This was what Peter had been talking about yesterday. He’d been talking about using one of the pack to bring the alphas into an ambush, but then he’d used himself. By drawing the alphas’ attention, the humans had been able to get close with their weapons to spring an ambush, because the other werewolves weren’t going to pay much attention to humans nearby when an alpha werewolf was in their midst. 

And Peter had talked about how to fool the alphas, how to make them take the bait. He’d done it by letting them think it was their idea. He’d let Stiles be captured knowing that he’d be used to blackmail Peter so that they would let him walk into their trap while setting up his own trap around it. He’d set the whole thing up. 

“They were going to keep Stiles alive as bait,” Peter said. 

“You couldn’t have known for sure,” Derek said. “You let them hurt him. You risked his life.” 

“I risked a human to protect the pack.” 

“Stiles is pack!” Derek snarled. 

He was aware of movement around him, of eyes watching him. The rest of the pack stood there, along with the hunters and Stiles’ father and the deputies. Everyone was watching to see what happened next. 

“Derek, are you sure you want to do this?” Cora asked. It wasn’t condemnation or even a request to stop. It was simply a calm question, checking whether this was him or the unleashed animal committing to this act. 

Those words reached him, even through the burning rage. He was angry enough that he could snap Peter’s neck from that alone, but he needed to do more than just hate. He needed to make the rational decision. 

He couldn’t trust Peter. Not now, not ever. Peter might act like he had the pack’s best interests in mind, but he was cruel and calculating and he would always put himself first. Stiles was right that Peter’s pride was given too much priority, even over the safety of the rest of the pack. If he let Peter go now, he would never be able to relax, because Peter would be scheming to make sure they never ended up in this position again. Peter would play Stiles like a pawn in a game, and he’d probably do the same to the rest of the pack too. 

Derek met Peter’s eyes and thought of his sister. 

He sliced his claws through Peter’s throat. 

He stood up, blood dripping from his fingertips as he shifted back to human form. He looked about, expecting to see disgust or hatred, but seeing only sympathy in Cora’s eyes. The hunters looked like they wanted to kill him right there, but the sheriff’s face was unreadable. It took Derek a few moments to realise that there were faces missing. 

“Where’s Satomi and her pack?” Derek asked. 

***

“I wonder if there’s some kind of Yelp review system for kidnappings,” Stiles said, “because this kidnapping is definitely the best so far.” 

He reached for the plate of cookies on the coffee table. They were decorated with little flowers drawn in icing. He’d eaten about three of them already, but they were good. Across the plate, a girl beamed at him. 

“I decorated those myself,” she said. She looked about ten or eleven. She hadn’t been involved with the fight against the alphas, but she seemed to have been left to guard Stiles, possibly because he couldn’t imagine threatening to punch her in the face. Possibly because he could barely walk right now so they weren’t actually worried about an escape attempt. 

Satomi returned to the living room carrying a tray. The tray bore a teapot and cup, as well as a bowl of water and cloth, and a box beautifully carved with plant designs. She set it all down next to the biscuits and poured the tea into the cup. 

“This isn’t the tea I gave you, is it?” Stiles asked. 

“No,” Satomi answered. “This should help with your leg. It’s a traditional recipe, but recent studies have shown it contains genuine anti-bacterial properties. It should prevent infection.” 

“I’d rather go to the hospital and get scientifically tested pills from a doctor,” Stiles said, but he picked up the cup and drank anyway. There was a bitter taste to it. 

Satomi crouched beside his chair and rolled up the leg of his jeans to expose the injury in his calf. The alphas had wrapped a bit of cloth round it to slow the bleeding but they hadn’t bothered beyond that. Now Stiles looked away as Satomi exposed the tear in his flesh. He was a little surprised that Satomi was doing this herself, tending to a prisoner in this way, but as her fingers started drawing away the pain of the injury, he decided he wasn’t going to complain. 

She used the cloth and water to clean away the blood from the wound. Stiles didn’t watch that, drinking his bitter tea and trying not to feel what was going on. The girl poured him another cup of tea and then pushed cookie plate towards him again. She seemed utterly unconcerned by all this blood. 

Satomi opened up the carved box, revealing trays of tiny compartments, each containing herbs, leaves, seeds, powders, and unidentifiable somethings. Stiles leaned forward, looking in curiosity at what had to be a box of magic ingredients. She lifted out trays, finding what she was looking for underneath it all. There were large leaves at the very bottom of the box. She used one of these like a plate and dropped on pinches from various compartments. Nothing was labelled, so Stiles seriously hoped she could tell one dark green powder from another identical one. 

“Hospitals have great things these days like careful measurements to ensure an effective and safe dose,” Stiles said. 

“This is safe,” Satomi said. 

She took the leaf with its powdery contents and pressed it to the back of Stiles' calf. He hissed in pain at the initial pressure, but then a soothing warmth flowed out almost immediately. 

“Hold that in place,” she told him. Stiles obeyed, bending down and pressing the leaf against his leg with two fingers. She stood and left the room. Stiles barely had time to wonder how long he was expected to do this for when she returned, carrying a plastic green case labelled as a first aid kit. 

“Why did you go for the mystic herb stuff if you had that all along?” Stiles asked. 

“Because,” she said, “for some of us, the mystic herb stuff provides results that can’t be matched by ordinary humans in lab studies. Scientists have studied mountain ash for decades and all they’ve discovered so far is that some people can make a barrier with it and others can’t. There are many things like that, which can only work for those who have the knack and so don’t fare well in controlled experiments.” 

She moved his fingers from the leaf and used a roll of bandages from the first aid kit to bind it to the injury. 

“But why do you have all this stuff?” Stiles asked. “Surely werewolves can just heal yourselves if you get hurt.” 

“Most of the time, yes, but it’s always best to be prepared. And not all who come into this house are werewolves.” 

She finished up with the bandage. Stiles’ leg was feeling better already, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of the werewolf pain-sucky thing, or because of something in the herb mix. She carefully packed away her herbs while Stiles finished his tea. He was starting to feel warm and cosy, unsure if that was from the hot drink or something else. He just wanted to curl up in a dark corner somewhere and go to sleep. 

Satomi carried away her healing supplies but she returned a minute later. Stiles saw the blanket in her hands and, even in his sleepy state, drew connections between his current state and her actions. 

“Did you just drug me?” he asked. 

“Only a little. Sometimes rest is the best medicine.” 

He wanted to argue or complain, but tiredness was washing over him, drawing him under. Satomi gave to him and helped him to lie on the couch, feet curling up beside him. She manoeuvred a cushion under his head as a pillow. 

“That was mean and sneaky,” Stiles complained in a soft tone, losing the battle to keep awareness. The last thing he felt was Satomi tucking the blanket around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is actually approaching its end (still a few chapters off, but the end is in sight), so I've started thinking about what my next fic might be. I've narrowed my ideas down to three, known in my head as: Feral Derek, Magical Stiles, and Miscommunication Trope. I've put a little summary of each on [a Tumblr post](http://jessicameats.tumblr.com/post/105949209009/which-tw-fanfic-should-i-work-on-next) if you want to weigh in the discussion about which you'd like to see next.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas. 
> 
> My question of what to write next has gathered quite a few comments. All the ideas have their enthusiastic supporters, but Feral Derek seems to be getting the most.

Derek stood outside the gates to Satomi’s property. He wanted to charge in there, fighting those who’d tried to take Stiles from him, but he knew that wasn’t the sensible way to do things. Satomi hadn’t tried to hide the fact she’d taken Stiles. She wasn’t at all concerned about an attack, and probably rightly so. If Derek tried to take Stiles back by force, he’d probably end up dead. He wouldn’t be able to bring the hunters in on this one to help. 

So he stood by the gate and called her name. He’d come into her territory, but there was a big difference between that and going into her property uninvited. 

After a minute, the door to one of the houses opened. Derek glared through the metal bars of the gate, between the wolf and the moon, as Satomi walked down the steps from her front door and slowly walked down the driveway towards the gate. Derek’s anger burned with an alpha’s power inside him, but he held it in check, claws and eyes hidden. He could change in a heartbeat if necessary, but he was going to wait until the right moment. 

“Do come in,” Satomi called out. Derek reached for the handle and pushed open the large gate, walking into her property. He scanned quickly around with his eyes, looking for other people, human or werewolf, but there was no sign of a waiting ambush. 

“Where is Stiles?” Derek asked. 

“Inside,” Satomi said. “We had to ensure he was removed from the danger.” 

She smiled calmly. Something about that reminded Derek of Peter. Was this what it meant to be an alpha? Was this his destiny as well? Becoming sneaky and manipulative and playing power games with the other packs? 

Satomi moved back towards her front door and held it open for him. Derek walked inside. He could smell the other pack, so many werewolves that had simply existed here long enough that their scents were ingrained in every inch of the building. But there was another scent too, familiar and needed. He picked up Stiles’ scent. 

Satomi showed him through to the living room, a cosy space worn by years of family life. There was Stiles, sleeping peacefully on the couch, tucked under a fleecy blanket. Derek reached out and brushed a stray hair from Stiles’ forehead. Stiles didn’t even stir. But he was breathing gently, his skin warm, his face calm. He looked so beautiful and restful that Derek wanted to record this image in his memory forever. 

“I’m taking him home,” Derek said. 

“Of course,” said Satomi. “Once you and I discuss the deal your uncle offered.” 

Derek had expected this. It was the only reason she would have had to take Stiles like this. Derek just wished he’d been paying more attention when Peter had been discussing details of terms with Stiles. He wanted to wake Stiles up so that he’d know exactly what Stiles and Satomi had discussed last time, but he didn’t want his first official act as alpha to include having to get a human, who wasn’t officially in the pack, to do his negotiating for him. 

“Let’s discuss that then,” Derek said. 

She led him through to her study and Derek left Stiles asleep on the couch. Derek sat down in front of Satomi’s desk while she got out print out maps of the territories. 

“It’s worth noting,” Derek said, “that your pack came out of yesterday’s fight unscathed and Deucalion is no longer a threat, to you as well as us.” 

“If this is your way of backing out of your uncle’s commitment, it’s worth noting that my pack is considerably larger than yours. But I’m sure we can have this conversation without needing to resort to threats.” 

Derek nodded. This was especially important because her pack where all over this building and Stiles was currently asleep. He couldn’t do anything that would put Stiles at risk. 

“What do you think is fair?” Derek asked. 

Satomi picked up a pencil and drew a line on the map, marking out an area about five square miles in size, though it was difficult to be certain because she wove the line around various markers and natural landmarks. Her marked section included a large chunk of the Beacon Hills preserve. Derek didn’t want to sacrifice that. But just to the north was an area of farmland that was basically useless to the Hale pack because it was cultivated and they couldn’t go there without trampling someone’s crops and angering the farmers. 

He picked up the pencil and drew a new line, edging around the preserve and giving her a patch of farmland. She must have seen what he was trying to do because her mouth narrowed, lips pressed tightly together. It was difficult to know what she was thinking though, neither her face nor her scent gave much away. 

“That land is less valuable to the pack,” Satomi said. It took about half an hour of back and forth, after which the map was completely covered in pencil lines, before the two of them reached an agreement. 

They would need to get the changing in territories officially witnessed, but they shook their agreement over a map with a new line marked on with pen. Satomi pulled out a laptop and printed two more maps so that they could redraw the boundaries and each take a copy for reference to prevent any argument over details later. They each signed both copies of the new maps. The official agreement should now be a simple matter of agreeing what they’d already agreed. Derek shook Satomi’s hand over the desk and tucked the map into a pocket, then he went back to the living room to fetch Stiles. 

He crouched down beside the couch and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, gently urging him to wake. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek said quietly. Stiles made an unintelligible noise and his eyelids flickered a little, but he didn’t seem about to wake up. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, a little more firmly, and growing a little concerned. Stile’s heart rate was steady and his skin warm to the touch, but it took a more serious shaking to make him stir. Stiles’ eyes opened and looked at him drowsily. 

“De’k,” Stiles mumbled. “Hey.” Then he was asleep again. 

Derek looked Satomi, accusing. 

“I gave him a little something to help with his healing. It will wear off in a few hours.” 

Derek glared at her. He gathered Stiles into his arms, hugging the human close to his chest, snuggling him close, and he started towards the door. Satomi stepped aside calmly to let him past. Only when Derek was outside did she say, “You can keep the blanket.” 

Derek froze and looked down. Stiles was still wrapped in the blanket. Derek let out a low growl and kept walking. He strode out through the still-open gate and to his car, tucking Stiles carefully into the passenger seat and ensuring that he was safely belted in. Stiles slept through the whole thing. Derek really didn’t like this. He didn’t know what Satomi had given him. He didn’t know if it was safe for humans. He didn’t know if Stiles would be alright. Derek wanted to take Stiles home and shield him from the world, but he didn’t know anything about human medicine or what could cause this. He needed someone who did. 

He drove to the animal clinic, since apparently the vet there was the pack’s Emissary. Derek didn’t know whether to be more angry at Laura or Peter about the fact he’d only learned that recently. Right now, he was more concerned about getting Stiles looked at by someone who knew something about medicine. 

Derek parked beside the animal clinic and then hesitated because he could people moving through the windows. It might be possible to sneak in round the back, but Derek wasn’t sure he could get past all the mountain ash. He could go inside and get Deaton’s attention, but that would involve leaving Stiles alone. There was no way in hell he was going to do that. Stiles was still sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat, his mouth fallen open in a way that should have been illegal. 

Derek was still trying to decide what to do when the clinic door opened and a family emerged, a delighted child clutching a carry case with a ball of fluff inside. Derek watched the family get into their car and drive away, all the while listening for the sounds inside the clinic. He could barely pick up anything thanks to Deaton’s defences, so he guessed he just had to hope that Deaton was alone inside. 

He got out of the car and carefully lifted Stiles out. Stiles made a soft murmuring noise and leaned into Derek’s chest. He cradled Stiles in his arms as he crossed the parking lot and let himself inside. There was no one inside the front waiting area but Derek was still trapped, unable to go further because of the low, wooden barrier between this part of the building and the rest. 

“Deaton?” he called out. A moment later, Deaton emerged and saw Stiles in Derek’s arms. He opened the little gate to let Derek through. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“Satomi gave him something.” 

Derek lay Stiles down on the large table in Deaton's work room. He then tried to move out of the way, watching nervously as Deaton set to work. The first thing Deaton tried to do was wake Stiles up, calling his name and shaking him by the shoulder. He lifted one of Stiles’ eyelids to look into it. Stiles actually stirred at them, mumbling something about five more minutes. He was asleep again as soon as Deaton let go of him. Deaton check pulse and breathing, before looking towards where Derek was hovering impatiently. 

“My first thought is that he’s been given a strong sedative,” Deaton said. “He’s responsive, which is a good sign. He’ll probably wake up when the drug clears his system.” 

“Probably isn’t good enough,” Derek said. 

Deaton nodded and got on with his inspection of Stiles. When he lifted Stiles’ jeans, he found the bandage and unwrapped it to see the wound beneath, which appeared to have a leaf pressed against it. Deaton peeled the leaf away and surveyed the leg carefully. 

“When did this happen?” Deaton asked. 

“Yesterday,” Derek said, “or the day before.” 

“Look at it.” 

Derek looked. It was an angry red mark in the back of Stiles’ leg. It made him angry all over again, even though he’d killed the people who’d done this to him. He wasn’t sure what Deaton expected him to see. 

“It looks a week old at least,” Deaton said. 

“And what does that mean?” 

“Whatever Satomi gave him must be speeding up the healing process. That kind of thing can be draining on a human body. Hence the sleep. Help me get his shirt off.” 

Derek helped Deaton undress Stiles’ torso, which elicited a few more murmurs of complaint from Stiles. Then Deaton peeled away the dressings that covered Stiles’ wounds from his first encounter with the twins. There were red lines crisscrossing Stiles’ chest, but they were definitely different from the last time Derek had helped Stiles with his dressing. Derek wasn’t sure though whether that was normal, and wished he knew a bit more about human healing. 

“These are a week old?” Deaton asked. 

“Yeah. About a week.” 

Deaton hmm a little, feeling along the red marks, inspecting them carefully. 

“Well?” Derek asked. 

“Something is definitely speeding up his healing. If you say Satomi gave him something, then it’s a safe bet that the two are related. The best bet is to just let him sleep it off.” 

“That’s all?” 

“Keep an eye on him to make sure he keeps breathing,” Deaton said. 

“That’s all the advice you’re going to give me?” Derek was a hair’s breadth away from yelling. Stiles was unconscious on the table and Deaton’s only advice was to let him sleep it off. 

“Whatever Satomi gave him is helping him heal. When he wakes up, if there are any ill-effects, then you can bring him back. Until then, you should probably put him in a bed.” 

Derek glared at Deaton for good measure, but then he lifted Stiles up and carried him back to the car. He tucked Stiles in as gently as before, making sure that the blanket would keep him warm because Derek didn’t know where to begin with getting the shirt back on. Then he drove back to the house. 

He wasn’t prepared for the sight of the sheriff’s car parked in front of the house, but he supposed it was only natural for the sheriff to want to see his son after all that he happened. Derek had just lifted Stiles from the car when the sheriff was there, rushing down from the house to check on him. 

“Stiles. Oh my god. Is he OK?” 

“He’s sleeping,” Derek said. “Satomi gave him something to speed up his healing but it’s left him drained. Deaton says to just let him sleep it off.” 

“Oh,” the sheriff said. He still had a hand against Stiles’ cheek. “Well, I guess I should take him home so he can rest then.” 

“What?” Derek asked. 

The sheriff met his eyes. “The choosing ceremony was for a human to serve the alpha’s heir for a month. You are no longer the alpha’s heir. Stiles’ service is no longer valid. You have no legal claim on him. I’m taking him home.” 

Derek’s arms were still wrapped around Stiles, holding him to his chest. He looked past the sheriff to the house, where Cora stood. He shot her a pleading glance, wanting help. 

“I think he’s technically right,” she said. 

“No.” 

“You’re the alpha now.” 

Derek couldn’t argue with that fact. After the fight with Deucalion’s wolves, he’d absorbed the power of the twins and of Peter, who’d taken Deucalion’s power. It had been Satomi who’d killed Kali, leaving Derek the lone alpha in the Hale pack. And the sheriff was probably right about the choosing. The whole ritual was about the heir, not the alpha. 

“I should come with you,” Derek said. “To make sure he stays safe.” 

“You’ve done more than enough,” the sheriff said. There was fury in his eyes to match any werewolf. 

Derek carefully placed Stiles in the passenger seat of the sheriff’s car. He wasn’t going to leave it at that though. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead and whispered, “I love you,” in his ear, hoping that some part of Stiles was awake enough to hear it. 

“Let me know if anything goes wrong,” Derek said to the sheriff. “And call me when he wakes up.” 

The sheriff said nothing. Derek took that as a refusal. He wanted to protest that all he’d done was try to protect Stiles, but Stiles had been injured and kidnapped just as a tool to manipulate the pack. Derek himself had tried to send Stiles away to keep him safe, so he could hardly argue with the sheriff now. He backed off and let the sheriff drive away with Stiles. 

***

Scott stopped by that afternoon and the first thing Derek asked was whether he had any news about Stiles. 

“Still asleep,” Scott said. “I’m surprised you’re not there, looming over his bed and glaring at him to feel better.” 

“His dad doesn’t want me there.” 

“Then I’m surprised you’re not there glaring at his dad.” 

“I have no legal right to be there.” Derek growled out those words like they personally offended him, hating the admission that he could be banished from Stiles’ presence by Stiles’ father. He could wait outside the house for Stiles to wake up, but the sheriff would probably arrest him for stalking. No, he had to wait for Stiles. 

“Do you have his phone number?” Derek asked. Scott pulled out his phone and called up Stiles’ number, so Derek could copy it into his own phone. He sent Stiles a quick text, hoping he felt better and saying to let him know when he was awake. 

“I didn’t actually come here to talk about Stiles,” Scott said. 

“Then why?” 

“The bite. Your uncle was talking about giving me the bite.” 

“You still want it?” Derek asked. “Even after you’ve seen how dangerous this life is?” 

“Going for a run in the cold is dangerous for me,” Scott said. “My asthma has put me in the hospital about a dozen times. I want the bite.” 

“It could kill you.” 

“It’s worth the risk.” 

Derek hesitated. Scott was here and willing. He was over the age of sixteen, which was the legal age of consent for being turned. He knew from his conversation with Stiles that Scott wasn’t doing this on a whim, but still he hesitated. Erica, Boyd and Isaac had all signed up for this without really knowing the consequences and they’d spent the past few days fighting for their lives. Derek wasn’t sure he wanted to bring someone else into the pack. 

“I’ve talked this over with my mom and everything,” Scott went on. “I’m ready for this. Unless you don’t think I’m good enough?” 

Derek considered that question carefully, rather than just giving a polite denial of that sentiment. 

“You’re Stiles’ best friend,” Derek said. “He obviously thinks you’re good enough for him. If you really want this, let’s do it.” 

Derek let himself shift, feeling the power of the alpha flowing through his veins, feeling the burn behind his eyes as they changed colour. The world seemed to take on a red hue and he reached out a clawed hand to take Scott’s arm. He bared his teeth, giving Scott one last chance to back out, then he buried his teeth into Scott’s forearm.


	22. Day Twenty Two

Stiles woke to a sense of disorientation, before he recognised his own room. It took him a few moments to remember why that seemed unusual. That strange and disconnected feeling lingered, leaving him wondering if the past few weeks had just been a weird dream. Maybe they had be. That made more sense than someone like Derek being in love with him. 

But there were more pressing concerns that were definitely real. Stiles pushed himself out of bed, stood up, and felt his legs give out beneath him. He made a grab from his bedside table and dislodged a glass of water that had been left for him. He winced at the crash it made, waiting for his dad to come in yelling. He stayed upright, and tried to remember why this was weird. His leg. His leg didn’t hurt. Both his legs felt like they were made of marshmallow but they didn’t hurt, not even where Deucalion had stuck him with the cane. 

“Stiles?” his dad was there at the doorway of his bedroom, concern rather than anger on his face. 

“Stiles, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said, rushing over to Stiles’ side. 

“I need the bathroom,” Stiles said. 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” 

His dad took hold of him, an arm around his back, clutching his waist to hold him up. It was ridiculously embarrassing. Stiles had to wonder how long he’d been in that bed. A worrying thought occurred. What if he was home because he’d been passed out for the rest of the month? What if Derek had sent him away? 

“How are you feeling?” his dad asked. 

“Inefficient,” Stiles muttered. 

“Huh?” 

“I need to pee and I’m really thirsty. And hungry. But mostly thirsty. Stupid inefficient body.” 

They reached the bathroom and his dad helped him inside and over to the toilet. 

“Do you need my help?” his dad asked. 

“You are not helping me pee,” Stiles said, with absolute finality. 

“Right. OK then. I’ll go and fix you something to drink and some food.” 

Stiles waited until his dad was out of the room and then did what needed to be done. He held himself up on the edge of the sink so he could wash his hands. Then his dad was back to help him into bed and hand him a glass of milk. 

“I’m surprised I’m here,” Stiles said. “I’d have thought I’d be at Derek’s, with him fussing all around me.” 

“Derek killed Peter in the fight,” his dad said. “He’s the alpha now. The choosing ceremony is to find someone to serve the alpha’s heir. Your service is over.” 

“So he just sent me away?” 

“I brought you home. This is where you belong.” 

His dad reached out and squeezed his shoulder. 

“I’d have thought he’d be here though,” Stiles said. “Like at the hospital. Waiting by my bed.” 

It was rather hurtful that Derek wasn’t there. He’d thought, after all that had happened, all the things Derek had said, that Derek would stick by him. The empty space beside his bed was a bitter, hollow area that Derek should be in. 

“Being around the Hale pack has put you in danger,” his dad said. “It’s gotten you hurt more than once now, nearly got you killed. It’s better for everyone if you have nothing to do with the Hales and Derek in particular. He’s dangerous.” 

Stiles remembered a similar conversation with Derek and swallowed around the lump in his throat that threatened tears. He needed to know whose words he was hearing. He was afraid to know, but he couldn’t just wonder. 

“Are you saying that to make me feel better about the fact he dumped me?” Stiles asked. “Or are you saying that because you believe it?” 

“I want you safe. In a few days, you’ll forget all about Derek. This is better. Now you rest, I’ll go get you something to eat.” 

His dad left the room and Stiles was left sitting on his bed, thinking about his dad’s words. Because they had been his dad’s words. He was trying to keep Stiles safe, trying to separate him from Derek. That still left a very important question to be answered. Did Derek agree? Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek wasn’t here because his dad had forbidden it, or because Derek didn’t want to be here. 

At least he knew Derek was OK though. He’d survived the fight. And killed Peter, apparently. Stiles remembered those nervous encounters with Peter, the way Peter had threatened him that morning before he’d been captured. A part of him was relieved that Peter was gone. The rest of him wondered if being relieved meant he was a terrible person. No one should be glad, not even a little bit, that a person was dead. 

There was another, selfish little thought that wormed through his mind. He’d never have a chance to beat Peter at go. In the grand scheme of things, it was such an insignificant thing, but he still wanted to know if he could have done it. Now he’d never know. He must be a really horrible person if this was what bothered him most about someone being dead. 

He understood why Derek had done it. Peter was selfish. He was cruel. He put his pride before the well-being of the pack and never even tried to be a decent leader. It was Derek who'd brought the pack together and gave them a sense of belonging. Derek would be a much better alpha than Peter ever could be. But still, Stiles wished there had been another way, a way that didn’t involve killing. Maybe the answer was buried in the old rituals. After all, everyone had forgotten the true purpose of the choosing. Maybe there were other old traditions that had been forgotten, including one that would let someone become an alpha without killing the old one. It wouldn’t help Peter, but Stiles was determined to look, because there had to be ways for werewolves to handle things without killing each other. 

The bedroom door opened again and his dad came in with a class of juice and a plate of eggs on toast. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d been brought food in bed. Not by his dad anyway. He remembered Derek bringing him breakfast in bed, but his mind wasn’t going to go there now. 

Stiles devoured his breakfast as though it might vanish from his plate if he didn’t eat it fast enough. It did vanish pretty quickly and he was left staring at the crumbs lying forlornly on the plate. 

“Still hungry?” his dad asked. 

“It feels like I haven’t eaten for a month,” Stiles said. 

“It’s been at least a day,” his dad said. “I’ll go get you something else.” 

Stiles downed his juice and then decided to inspect his leg, because it was seriously weird that it didn’t hurt and he wasn’t sure if it was like the werewolf pain-sucky thing where the wound was still there but he just couldn’t feel it. He rolled up the leg of the sweatpants his dad must have put on him and he saw a mark. There was a white patch of scar tissue where the cane had torn into his flesh. It looked old, like it had happened years ago. 

He tore his t-shirt off too, because he needed to know why the rest of him wasn’t hurting either. His chest was criss-crossed with lines, but they were old, white lines, faded so that they almost disappeared in places. It was like everything with Derek had happened in the distant past. 

He was still poking at old scars when his dad returned with another plate and another glass of juice. 

“How long was I asleep?” Stiles asked. 

“A day and two nights, I think.” 

“But then how’s this possible?” He gestured towards his chest, to the old scars that should be red, angry wounds. 

“Apparently Satomi gave you something.” 

Stiles couldn’t quite believe this. No pot of tea could possibly do this. But she hadn’t touched the wounds on his chest, so it had to be the tea. Stiles stared down at himself and wondered if Satomi would be willing to teach him how to do this. Because anything that could heal wounds like that in a day deserved proper study. It should be made public knowledge to help the world, not locked in werewolf pack mysticism. 

“Here,” his dad pressed the plate into his hands. “Eat up.” 

The plate held apple. Not a whole apple, but an apple carefully cut into narrow slices. His dad had taken the time to cut his food into manageable pieces. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was sweet or patronising that his dad thought he couldn’t handle a whole apple right now, but he ate anyway, crunching the pieces while his dad disappeared downstairs again. 

When he'd eaten the apple, Stiles decided to experiment with standing up again. This time, he was ready to catch himself if he started to fall, but his legs held his weight like they should, his body responding properly to his mind’s commands. He took a few tentative steps. Maybe he’d just been weak from lack of food when he’d tried before. He pulled his t-shirt on again and left the room, holding carefully to the banister when he reached the stairs, just in case. It turned out to be unnecessary. He made it downstairs without any mishaps whatsoever, but that didn’t stop the look of horror on his dad’s face when Stiles walked into the kitchen. 

“You should be in bed,” he insisted. 

“I’m feeling much better now,” Stiles said. “I think I just needed food.” 

“Well I was going to make you soup, so you sit down right there and don’t even think about moving.” 

He pulled a chair back from the table and then almost pushed Stiles into it. Stiles sat down, because he didn’t think he had any choice when his dad was fussing like this. His dad went back to the kitchen counter and Stiles saw what was arrayed along it. 

“You’re making me vegetable soup?” Stiles asked. 

“Lots of vitamins. Just what you need right now.” 

“So you do listen to me when I extol the virtues of vegetables?” 

“I always listen.” 

He continued chopping up vegetables of all varieties and throwing them into the pot. Stiles watched him work, smiling at the thought of his dad making healthy food for him. 

“So, is the fact that you’ve got all these vegetables in the house a good sign?” Stiles asked. “Or does it mean you’ve just not been eating them without me so there are still plenty left?” 

His dad was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “I’ve been eating vegetables. You promised if I stayed away from curly fries, you’d come home safe. I couldn’t fight the choosing or get you away from the werewolves, but I felt like, if I did this, I could somehow make you safe. And I know it’s stupid and superstitious but it felt like we had a deal and as long as I was eating right, I was protecting you someone. I couldn’t help you, but I could do this.” 

Stiles stood up from the table and his dad’s tone changed instantly. 

“No! Sit down.” 

Stiles crossed the kitchen and put his arms around his dad. His dad set down the knife to hug him back. They stood there for a long moment. With his dad’s arms around him, Stiles felt safe. He’d known his dad must be worrying about him, but nothing had prepared him to hear that. 

“I love you, dad.” 

“Love you too, kiddo. Now let go of me so I can finish making your soup.” 

Stiles was just finishing eating his soup with a lump of seeded bread when the front door burst open and Scott let himself in. Apparently Stiles’ dad had called him as soon as Stiles woke up, for which Stiles felt a surge of gratitude. Stiles’ dad smiled indulgently and left them to it. 

“How are you feeling?” Scott asked. 

“Fine. The main problem was hunger, but Dad’s determined to fix that. Everything else is healed. I don’t know what Satomi gave me but it’s clearly powerful stuff.” 

“Have you called Derek yet?” 

Stiles hesitated. “No. I’m not sure… I mean, if the choosing thing is over… I don’t want to presume anything… And he’s… well, you’ve seen him. He could have anyone he wants and well… there’s me. So…” Stiles trailed off. Scott fixed him with a look. 

“For a smart guy you can be a real idiot,” Scott said. “Have you even checked your phone?” 

“Erm…” Stiles hadn’t used his phone since the choosing ceremony. He hadn’t been allowed to take it in with him so now he wasn’t actually sure where his phone was. Even if he could find it, the battery would definitely be dead by now. 

“You’re useless,” Scott said. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket quickly placed a call. 

“Hey,” Scott said. “Yeah. He’s awake.” 

Then the call was over. 

“He’s on his way,” Scott told Stiles. 

“So he still wants to be with me?” 

“I am going to smack you round the head if you don’t start believing you deserve him,” Scott said, pointing a menacing finger. Scott seemed so certain about this that Stiles had to smile. 

***

Derek clutched the flowerpot to his chest as he walked up to the Stilinski house. It had seemed like a fun idea when he’d thought of it but now, after far more time hunting for the right shaped sticks than he’d ever admit, it seemed stupid. He was tempted to put the pot aside and forget the whole thing. But then he was at the door and the sheriff was opening it up for him. The sheriff looked Derek up and down, his eyes lingering on what Derek held. 

“It’s traditional to bring flowers,” the sheriff said, “not dead twigs.” 

But then Stiles was there behind his father, and he saw what Derek self-consciously held. 

“Oh my god! Groot!” Stiles burst into an excited grin and pushed his dad aside to stand in front of Derek. He took the flowerpot from him. He looked at it, with its collection of glued-together twigs and a face drawn on in marker pen, then cuddled it to his chest. Stiles, still smiling, looked Derek seriously in the eye, and said slowly, “I am Groot.” 

Derek returned the smile, replying, “We are Groot.” 

He touched his lips to Stiles’. 

Behind Stiles, the sheriff muttered, “Is this what it feels like to have a stroke? Because I didn’t understand any of that.” 

Stiles turned to his dad and said as though it were obvious, “I thanked Derek for the gift and he said he loves me. Pay attention.” 

Stiles, holding the little Groot in one hand, caught Derek by the sleeve and towed him into the house. The sheriff didn’t object. He just shut the front door behind them and went into another room. Stiles took Derek through to the living room, where Scott was sitting on the couch. Scott nodded to Derek and Derek nodded back. 

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked Stiles. 

“Much, much better. Wounds all healed and everything thanks to Satomi’s mojo, but dad’s fussing and he’s insisting I’ve got to stay here and rest. Since I’ve got DVDs and you here to cuddle me, who am I to argue?” 

Scott moved from the couch and took an armchair, so that there would be room for Derek to sit next to Stiles. 

“You’re really alright?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah. I was a bit weak when I woke up and seriously hungry, but dad’s got me sorted on that front.” He gestured to an array of snack food on the coffee table. Stiles set the little Groot down next to the snacks, positioning it so that the marker pen smile was facing the couch. Derek had spent far too long in the woods, trying to distract himself from worrying by looking for the perfectly shaped twigs, but it was worth it to see the grin on Stiles’ face as he positioned Groot’s pot. 

Derek sat down and Stiles settled next to him, pressing against his side. It felt right that he was there. Derek felt the warmth of him and breathed in his scent, letting every part of him understand that Stiles was safe and here and that all was well. 

“I take it you didn’t have any problems getting Satomi to let me go?” Stiles asked. 

“No. We had some discussions about territory boundaries and got everything settled satisfactorily.” 

“What did you have to give her?” 

Derek still had the map stuck into his back pocket, so he pulled it out and showed it to Stiles. Stiles took the map and, about two seconds later, started laughing. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

“You realise you’ve given her about three times as much territory as Peter was offering?” 

“Oh. I have?” 

Stiles handed the map back. 

“You’re hopeless,” he said. “No more pack negotiations without me there to keep an eye on you.” 

Derek wanted to say something about how Stiles hadn’t learned his lesson about arguing with the alpha. But he couldn’t do that. Not when Stiles’ words meant that Stiles intended to stick around, intended to look out for the pack, intended to look out for him. So Derek just smiled and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek. 

“OK,” Derek said. 

“So is everything sorted out then?” Stiles asked. “You’ve negotiated with Satomi, Deucalion and his guys are dead. Does this mean it’s all over?” 

“I think so. Even the hunters. We gave Chris Argent back his weapons and we’ve agreed to a truce. He’s even sending his daughter to the same school as you guys when the summer break’s over. He specifically said that if any of the betas try anything with her he’ll start a war so you’ll have to keep clear, but it should be fine.” 

Derek looked towards Scott when he mentioned his betas. Stiles caught the look. 

“Wait! Seriously?” Stiles turned to Scott. “He’s given you the bite?” 

Scott nodded. “Yesterday.” 

Stiles threw his hands up, complaining, “I fall asleep and this is what happens.” 

But he was smiling. Scott smiled back. The bite had taken and even now, this room smelled of pack. Scott was part of the family now. And so was Stiles. 

Scott turned away from them and moved to the TV, clearly not wanting to talk about his new state as a werewolf. Derek would need to sit down with him before the next full moon, but they had some time. 

“Come on,” Scott said. “You said something about DVDs.” 

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “I think it’s finally time to make you watch Star Wars.” 

***

Three films later, the sheriff returned, insisting that Stiles needed his rest. Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. Scott gave Stiles a quick hug and left, but Derek lingered, partly because Stiles was still holding his hand and didn’t look like he planned to let go anytime soon. The walked slowly towards the front door, their pace glacial, as though Stiles wanted to put off the moment of goodbye as long as possible. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Derek said. “And you need to come over on Saturday for pack night.” 

“Even though I’m not really pack?” 

“You are pack.” 

Stiles grinned, ducking his head a little, trying to hide the pink flush that coloured his cheeks. 

“And you need to talk to Deaton,” Stiles said. “He told Peter he’d give me Emissarying lessons and I intend to hold him to it.” 

“I’ll talk to Deaton. But if he says you have to wait until we’re sure Satomi’s stuff has worn off, you’ll wait.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes but said, “Fine.” 

Even at their slow pace, they reached the front door. Now Derek knew he’d have to say goodbye. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to wrap Stiles in his arms and carry him back to the house in the preserve, where it felt like Stiles belonged. But he had no right to do that. 

He kissed Stiles. There, at the door, he kissed Stiles like this might be his last chance, wanting to soak up every feel and taste and scent of Stiles, so he could carry it with him when he left. He held his arms around him, trying to press his scent to Stiles’ clothes, his skin, his hair, so that the world would know that Derek would always protect him. 

There was a clearing of throat beside them. Derek broke the kiss, a little breathless, and looked sheepishly towards the sheriff. He’d been watching that exchange, arms folded. 

“I’ll walk you to your car, Derek,” the sheriff said. 

Stiles gave Derek one last quick kiss and whispered, “I love you,” then Derek was outside the house and the sheriff shut the door firmly so that Stiles wouldn’t overhear. Derek braced himself for the worst. 

“I have no idea what was going on with that twig thing,” the sheriff said. Derek opened his mouth to explain but the sheriff cut him off. “I don’t need to know. What I know is that you gave Stiles something weird and unique and it made him smile like you were made of sunshine. And you smiled back at him the same way. You really do love him, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Derek said. “And I know that being around werewolves can be dangerous but I swear I will do everything in my power to keep Stiles safe. No matter what.” 

The sheriff looked Derek in the face for a long moment. Then he nodded. 

“I hope I don’t need to remind you,” the sheriff said, “that he is sixteen and it’s my job to uphold the law. Whatever you might have been up to when he was your slave is now illegal. I’m perfectly willing to arrest my son’s boyfriend should the need arise.” 

“It won’t arise,” Derek said quickly. 

The sheriff looked at him doubtfully, “You’re a healthy young man and he’s a hormonal teenage boy. I don’t know how things work for werewolves, but in humans, that can be a dangerous combination.” 

“I can wait,” Derek said. “Stiles is worth waiting for.” 

It would be hell, having to wait two years to have sex with Stiles again, to be around him, knowing what it was like to be with him but not being able to be. It would take every scrap of willpower he had. But Stiles was worth it. 

“And it goes without saying,” the sheriff went on, “that if you break his heart or force him into something he’s uncomfortable with, I will put a wolfsbane bullet somewhere that it will make it exceedingly difficult for you to have sex ever again.” 

The sheriff looked down pointedly. Derek swallowed and resisted the urge to shield his crotch with his hands. 

“I would never make him do anything he didn’t want,” Derek said. 

The sheriff nodded and he smiled for the first time in this whole, painful conversation. 

“Congratulations, son,” he said. “I expect you’ll want to be here to take care of Stiles tomorrow when I’m at work.” 

“Yes,” Derek said. 

“OK. You should stay for dinner afterwards. I think you and I should get to know each other better.” 

“OK,” Derek said, because there really wasn’t any other answer he could give. The thought of another dinner with the sheriff was terrifying. He wondered if he would spend the whole evening being interrogated, but it was worth it if it meant he had permission to be at the house with Stiles the rest of the time. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomo…” Derek stopped. Something he’d just heard finally made it’s implications clear. “Did you just call me son?” Derek asked. 

The sheriff smiled. “I guess I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos through this fic. I hope you like the ending. :) 
> 
> The winner of the "what should I write next" vote is the feral Derek AU. So look out for that one soon.


End file.
